


The Proposal

by Nakeycatstakebaths



Series: In a World of their Own: Bellarke Rom-Com AUs [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellamy is an army vet, Clarke and Bellamy are both pediatricians, Doctors & Physicians, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Found Family Vibes, Immigration Marriage, Meet the Family, Misunderstandings, Past Bellamy/Gina Martin, Romantic Comedy, Sex first feelings later, Sharing a Bed, Unresolved Sexual Tension, dummies af, fuckbuddies turned soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 63,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakeycatstakebaths/pseuds/Nakeycatstakebaths
Summary: Inspired by the movie The Proposal!Clarke Griffin is the best neonatal surgeon on the eastern seaboard and the head of Obstetrics at Arkadia Memorial Hospital. She’s high powered, successful and the best in her field...but she also happens to be sitting on a Visa that’s about to expire. If she doesn’t do something to stay in the U.S, she’ll lose her job and her dream of becoming the chief of surgery. In comes Bellamy Blake, a cocky—attractive, pediatrics resident and army veteran whose been vying for a job at a notoriously competitive research hospital.In order to get what they both want, they decide to get engaged.In exchange for Clarke’s Visa, Bellamy gets the recommendation he needs, along with a few other stipulations. Convincing an immigration official shouldn’t be too hard...they’ve known each other for years, but when it comes to convincing Bellamy’s loved ones at his sister’s birthday party, they may be in a little over their heads.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Minor Lincoln/Octavia Blake
Series: In a World of their Own: Bellarke Rom-Com AUs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544413
Comments: 322
Kudos: 500





	1. The problem with HR

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by the movie: The Proposal (y'all know the drill, the premise is the same but the storyline will differ). 
> 
> Also two disclaimers: 1. I don't know anything about being a doctor so my knowledge is coming mainly from Grey’s Anatomy lol 2. This movie came out in 2009 so take the immigration plotline with a grain of salt, this isn't how things are anymore and obviously the premise (And the concept of deportation) has different context eleven years later.

* * *

Bellamy had always liked his name—loved it even. It was different, hard to forget. In a sea of Jacob, Chris and Zach, it was nice to stand out. When he was young and came home crying about the jokes other kids made about it, his mom would soothe him, whispering,

“There’s no one else quite like you.”

It was something that he kept with him, a reminder that his mom gave him a name that was meant to stand out, that he needed to live up to that expectation. A reminder that fueled him, that pushed him to always be the best.

In the army, he had always gone by “Blake” it was short, easier to call across the yard. Last names were just the nature of the military, both formal and casual at the same time. But even then, he missed the different ways people would call him. His mom used to say it all at once, a fluid flow of letters, while Octavia preferred to call him just Bell. One by one, his closest friends each developed their own slightly distinct way of saying his name, inflection changing just slightly based on where they were from.

So yeah, he always liked his name, especially after he became Dr. Bellamy Blake.

But at this moment, he had never hated it more.

The way Clarke Griffin yelled it from across the ER, voice shrill, dragging out each syllable, ensuring that every single attending in the bay knew she was yelling out for him. At this moment he couldn’t hide in a sea of men with the same name, couldn’t fade into the distance, and pretend he hadn’t heard her. He wasn’t sure why she always insisted on doing it like this, purposely calling him by his first name when almost everyone here went by their last. Maybe it was just to ensure that everyone would know he fucked up.

She seemed to take an immense amount of pleasure in torturing residents, but she seemed to hate him even more than the rest.

Not that he was really her biggest fan either.

He knew it from the moment he saw her, she was exactly the kind of person he wanted to avoid in this hospital. She was nothing like him, didn’t understand what it was like to drag yourself through dirt and blood to work at a hospital like this.

She was Abby Griffin’s daughter, as in, Griffin-Jaha foundation, Abby Griffin.

Clarke was a textbook, spoiled hospital princess. What she wanted, she got.

That was just the way things were around here. Sure, she was one of the best neonatologists on the East Coast, but she was princess first and doctor second.

She seemed to like to pick on him specifically, probably because she looked down on him. Technically speaking, he was older than her. He needed to serve three years in the army before he could pay for his undergrad, he served another two years after medical school before returning to complete his pediatrics residency.

To most, military service is looked upon as a sacrifice, an investment of time to serve your country and go to school without drowning in debt. But of course, she never bothered to ask. She probably just thought he was an idiot who had to repeat organic chemistry four times or something.

“To what do I owe the pleasure,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral, hoping that his irritation didn’t show through his smile.

“Why did you switch shifts with Josephine without clearing it with me first? That girl doesn’t know a baby butt from a hole in the ground,” Clarke snipped, eyes glued to the tablet in her arms. “A nurse had to re-teach her how to insert an arterial line today. That’s kindergarten stuff, I don’t have time to deal with it.”

“How is it my fault that Josephine didn’t pay attention during the cardio unit in lab skills?”

“Because you were on my service today when I checked last night, and you somehow ended up in ortho this morning.”

“Maybe I like ortho now?” he shrugged, leaning against the counter.

Clarke’s eyes flicked up at his words, a brief second of shock before she switched to exasperation. This was dangerous, he was openly antagonizing her, and she definitely had the power to get him fired. But he could tell he had thrown her off, even if it was only for a few moments.

“I guess I’ll just pull you from my service,” she said simply, clicking her tablet back to life.

“Hey now, I didn’t say that!”

“Then don’t fuck with my schedule again.”

With a final disapproving glare, she turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving a faint cloud of expensive perfume in her wake. With that extra pep in her step, she was probably on her way to put Josephine on probation.

He tried and failed to look anywhere else as she walked away. It was unfair really, that someone so deeply unpleasant got to look like that. She was all long blonde hair and curves in all the right places. As much as he didn’t like her, he couldn’t really deny that the whole uptight and angry thing did it for him, especially when she got worked up and her cheeks flushed red while she was yelling at him.

“I know you hate her, but I would legit saw off my hand to follow her around for an entire day,” a voice said from behind him, a second of warning before Murphy smacked him squarely on the back. “I would take that over the 77 year old Navy vet that spent 45 minutes re-teaching me how to insert a catheter any day.”

“You say that now, but you’ve never had her breathing down your neck while you try to insert the world’s smallest cardiac valve,” Bellamy sighed leaning back against the nurses’ station. “And I don’t hate her, she just pisses me off to no end.”

“Your fault for choosing peds in the first place,” Murphy shrugged, sneaking behind the desk to steal a donut. “Pink scrubs and bitches, it comes with the territory.”

“I happen to look very good in pink scrubs. Also, just because you’re dating a nurse doesn’t mean you get to eat their snacks.”

“Yes it does, just don’t tell Emori. Also, I did CPR for 15 minutes today. I need the calories.”

“Your funeral,” he chuckled, waving to Murphy as he walked out of the ER. Right as his back turned, he heard Diyoza screaming at him to get out from behind the desk.

At least that was one win for the day.

Considering the rest of his time was slated with Clarke, he would take what he could get.

***

“Queen Elsa is at the top of her game today…” Josephine sighed, flopping down onto the couch in the breakroom.

“What is the heiress up to now?” Bellamy asked, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth as he turned to Josephine. He already knew it wasn’t going to be pretty, but he was curious how far Clarke was willing to go. If there was one thing she didn’t tolerate well, it was incompetence.

“She got Lewis to put me on gynecology for the rest of the month, night shift only.”

“I’m honestly surprised she didn’t try to fire you…” Luna said around a mouthful of grapes. “You got off easy.”

“Dude don’t even joke about that,” Gabriel said sternly, wrapping an arm around Josephine as tears welled in her eyes.

“She isn’t going to fire her,” Bellamy sighed, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. “They only fire you if you kill someone.”

Still, Josephine burst into tears, hot and wet, rolling down her cheeks as her shoulders shook. Gabriel tucked her against his chest, whispering nonsense to her in an attempt to calm her down.

Frankly, the whole thing was ridiculous.

“Who knows, maybe you’ll like gynecology,” Luna tried, failing to sound anywhere close to comforting as she patted Josephine awkwardly on the back.

This of course, just made her cry harder.

“You realize I have to look at _hoohas_ all day, right?”

“For God’s sake, you’re a Doctor, Josephine, can you please say vagina like a normal person?” Gabriel groaned, rolling his head back against the couch as Josephine continued to cry.

At the sound of a particularly ugly sob, Bellamy stood, legs of his chair scraping against the floor. As much as Clarke pissed him off, he couldn’t take any more of Josephine complaining about being punished for not doing her job. Clarke’s reactions tended to be extreme, but it wasn’t like Josie was innocent in the matter.

Maybe it was his years in the army, or maybe it was just his age showing, but he didn’t really have a lot of patience for the theatrics that his co-residents tended to show. Clarke’s methods weren’t exactly conventional, but it wasn’t much worse than the kind of shit he put up with during basic training. She was a total bitch as far as pediatrics were concerned, but in comparison to some of the assholes Murphy worked with in the ER, she was downright pleasant. He was here to keep his head down and get a fellowship, that was all. The only person he intended to keep in touch with after his time here was Murphy—everyone else could honestly go to hell.

The best way to deal with Clarke was to hand her shit right back to her. Although, he wasn’t really sure if Josephine was capable of doing that anyway.

***

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

The man in the suit kept clicking his pen. It was infuriating really. He barely said a word to her, just took a seat in her office, and started flipping through his papers, reading through his notes. This guy could really use a lesson or two on bedside manner. Doctors weren’t exactly the most socially apt bunch, but even she knew that making eye contact was important during a conversation.

“I’m sorry, I have patients I need to get to—” Clarke began, trying to sound polite as she interrupted the incessant shuffling. Bellamy’s broad outline was visible from just outside the door, waiting for her.

He was early.

Great, just great. The one time she actually needed a resident to be incompetent and he was early.

She hoped that he wouldn’t notice the human resources guy in her office, that he wouldn’t be able to hear the conversation through the door. This was embarrassing enough; she didn’t need the added element of the entire hospital knowing.

“Well, from what I’m looking at here, you won’t be seeing patients for much longer Dr. Griffin,” the man said matter-of-factly, as if he was reading the weather. It was startling, the casualness in his tone. So much so, that it took her a beat to process what he said, a beat to understand the implications.

“I’m sorry, what on earth are you talking about?!” she snapped, without really thinking about who she was talking to.

“The hospital got a call from our legal team this morning. They received a federal notice from the immigration department that you didn’t submit the correct paperwork when you refiled earlier this year. Your visa is in the process of being revoked. I’m unsure as to why you never applied for a green card but alas, it’s too late now.”

“That’s impossible. I had my assistant—”

Fuck. The paperwork had gone through right around the time she fired her assistant—Natalie? Jessica? Well, whatever her name was, it was clear Clarke had been right in firing her. She wouldn’t be surprised if she had purposely misfiled it just screw her over.

This was her worst nightmare.

She was going to have to go back to Australia. She would have to re-take all her licensure exams, start from scratch, work at the hospital that had her mother’s name hanging over the entrances, the ghost of her legacy following her wherever she went. That would be it. Almost a decade of hard work for nothing, it would be back to square one, just Abby Griffin’s daughter.

“There has to be something?” she asked desperately, opening and closing her desk drawers as if a solution would somehow appear between her case notes and stray pens.

“My hands are tied, as far as the government is concerned you have—” the man began, clicking his pen one last time as he looked up at her somberly.

He was interrupted by the heavy swing of the door as Bellamy shouldered his way into her office. He looked entirely too large for the small space, especially next to the hunched man sitting in front of her.

“You said twelve,” he said simply, at least having the decency to shoot an apologetic glance at the human resources officer. If he knew who it was, he didn’t indicate as such.

Honestly, Clarke was grateful he interrupted. She needed more time—needed to figure this out. It felt like the rug had been completely pulled out from under her, this was a total blindside. Before she could stop herself, Clarke longed for her mother. Abby would have handled this, would have known exactly what to do. All it would have taken were a few calls and some well-placed donations and this all would go away.

But her mom wasn’t there to save her anymore, she hadn’t been for a long time.

She was an adult now and she needed to handle this like a grown-up. Clarke worked too hard, spent too many nights working doubles in the NICU to go back now.

The thought of having to go back to her mother’s hospital made her feel desperate, like she was drowning.

There had to be something, at this point, she was willing to do anything. Her eyes flicked around the room, looking for absolutely anything she could use to fix this.

And then…

“That’s okay, _honey,_ ” Clarke said sweetly, face contorting into an almost painful-looking smile as she stood, wrapping an arm around Bellamy’s bicep. This was it, a last-ditch effort to buy some time until she could figure out how to get immigration off her back.

It could be worse. Bellamy’s bicep was particularly well defined. She always tried to avoid looking at him too closely, knowing that he was a little too attractive for his own good. But right now, all she could think about were the cords of firm muscle under her grip.

He had left his lab coat in the break room, so her hand was on his bare bicep, the heat of her palms seeping into his skin, sending an uncomfortable flash of heat through his body.

What the fuck?

She tilted her chin up to look at him, eyes wide, scared? Something in her gaze looked like she was screaming for help. It was strange, unsettling. Clarke was usually poised, confident, intense…he had never seen her look desperate before. It didn’t really suit her, made him feel uncomfortable in a way he didn’t want to address.

Subtly, he furrowed his brow, following her gaze toward the man on the other side of the desk. He looked mousy, like the kind of guy who spent a lot of time doing paperwork. Based on the stack of green sheets in front of him, that probably wasn’t too wild of a guess.

Stamped boldly on the folder in his lap read, “Immigration Legal Advisory: Urgent.”

Yikes.

This was serious, she was not fucking around. Whatever was going on, Clarke was actually freaked out.

Even though he was pissed about this morning, his brain flipped into warzone mode. This was beyond a petty argument, at least right now.

“We’re going to lunch with my sister, remember?” he said, trying to keep his tone casual, hoping that he was picking up on this correctly. “She’s waiting outside.”

Clarke relaxed almost imperceptibly at his words. Turned out, all those months of running around trying not to piss her off had made her pretty easy to read. Whatever was going on, he said the right thing because the mousy guy made a move to leave.

“I see you have things to attend to, I’ll come back tomorrow and we can discuss this further,” the man said quickly, eyes flicking between Bellamy and Clarke uncomfortably as he gathered his papers and rushed out of the room.

The click of the door echoed loudly in Clarke’s empty office, causing them both to jump apart. Almost like she was in a trance, Clarke didn’t say a word, just wiped her palm on the front of her scrubs, and turned to start digging through her desk.

“Do you want to explain what happened just now, _honey_?” Bellamy smirked, flopping down in one of the hard chairs on the other side of her desk. He grabbed a handful of M&Ms from the bowl in front of him, looking at her expectantly while he chewed. “Pretty sure I just saved your ass back there, so, you’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Clarke sighed, flopping back down in her desk chair. She didn’t have the energy right now to quip back at him. In a matter of ten minutes, her entire life had fallen apart.

There, in her desk drawer, sat her Australian passport. It was dark blue, bright gold embossing catching the light. She remembered the day she got it, just a few months before leaving for Harvard medical school. It was the last relic of her old life, the one where her mother was alive and the whole move was just supposed to be temporary.

She had been meaning to apply for citizenship for years, especially since she had no intention of ever returning to Australia…but she just couldn’t part with this passport. If she filed for citizenship, or for a green card even, it would officially close this chapter of her life forever.

If her mother was still alive, she would’ve called it stupid and overly-emotional. It was, of course, this situation proved it, but despite her fear and anger, looking at the little blue book sent a wave of emotion rolling through her.

“I’m getting deported,” she admitted, scrubbing a hand over her face as she leaned back.

“Deported to…?” he asked, brows knitted together, clearly still confused about whatever he was walking into.

“Australia, you know, where I’m from?”

“I literally know nothing about you.”

“I’m pretty sure I told you that.”

“You definitely didn’t. How come you don’t have an accent?”

“I uhh—just kind of got rid of it during medical school because nobody could ever understand me,” she said, glossing over the fact that she had actually done it to separate herself from her mother’s legacy. Griffin was a common enough last name that without the accent, most people never put it together or if they did, they felt too awkward to ask about it. 

“That’s completely bizarre, there’s not even a trace of it,” he murmured, chewing thoughtfully on his M&Ms as he stared at her. “So, are you just going to gloss over the whole ‘honey dearest’ thing?”

“I don’t really know what that was…I was just trying to buy time. I figured if I made the HR guy feel weird, he would just leave me alone.”

“Well, you were right about that one.”

“Thank God for that.”

Bellamy studied Clarke’s face as she chewed nervously on the end of her nail, yanking just hard enough to draw blood. Even in the most desperate of circumstances, he had never seen her so unraveled. It was unsettling, seeing someone who was normally so terrifyingly sure of themselves look afraid. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to handle this version of her. Snarkiness and bickering suited them both really well, it was a good rhythm for them. Emotional conversations—not so much.

“We have patients waiting for us,” Clarke said suddenly, drawing herself back up to her full height and readjusting her ponytail before he could say anything else. Within seconds, she had morphed back into her normal self. If he hadn’t witnessed it himself, he never would have known that anything was wrong at all.

***

Bellamy set his coffee down on the bench before yanking off his shirt and turning to dig through his locker. It was early and his coffee still hadn’t kicked in yet, so it took him a few tries to dial the combination in correctly.

He had stayed up later than he probably should have Googling the processes of medical licensing in Australia. It was quite the rabbit hole, but from what he could tell, Clarke was essentially fucked. He felt bad for her, even if she was an asshole, she was an amazing doctor and it would definitely be a loss to this hospital if she had to leave.

His relationship with Clarke was—tricky.

He didn’t exactly hate her, but he didn’t like her either. She taught him a lot about what it meant to be a thorough and analytical physician. Working here definitely would not be the same without her, there wasn’t really anyone who could teach him the kind of stuff she knew. Plus, he had been hoping to somehow wrangle a recommendation from her to work at Jaha labs. It was the most prestigious pediatric neurology research facility in the country and Clarke had an obvious in.

That ship had probably sailed considering.

He finally managed to line up the numbers correctly, fumbling with the lock for a second before it finally clicked open, the door swinging out with a sharp bang as it collided with the front of Gabriel’s locker.

Before he could pull his sweatshirt out and try to wake himself up a little more, a white piece of paper fluttered out, floating gently to the floor.

That was weird.

Bellamy didn’t keep loose papers, he learned that hard way that binders were the only way that he could keep everything organized without going completely insane. Whatever this paper was, it wasn’t his. Trying to keep himself from freaking out too badly, he reached down, flipping the thick sheet over.

 _“Relationship Declaration Form,”_ it read in thick, bold letters, followed by a paragraph of legal information so dense he didn’t even bother trying to read it. He moved to take a picture of the sheet to send to Lincoln, not really considering why exactly someone had left this in his locker.

Shit.

This was because of what happened yesterday in Clarke’s office.

***

Clarke stared at the relationship declaration form that had been set on her desk, chewing nervously on her lip. HR did not fuck around, that much was for sure. The sheet appeared on her desk first thing in the morning, paired with a sticky note chiding her for not doing it sooner. She wasn’t really sure what the point of this was, especially considering that she probably wouldn’t be working here for much longer. If she had been dating Bellamy, it wouldn’t be the hospital’s problem anymore. Not that there was really any universe where she would be dating Bellamy.

He was so—not her type. She had never been able to figure out what it was, but something about him just rubbed her the wrong way. He was cocky, overly confident, and kind of annoying, the kind of guy who knew he was hot and acted like it. From day one, it always kind of seemed like he thought he was better than her.

It was not something that she normally would’ve tolerated, but he was also exceptionally smart and the most competent resident she had ever met, which made it impossible for her to actually write him off completely. Like it or not, she was stuck with him.

It wasn’t all bad, they oddly made a pretty good team in the operating room and he had developed a pretty good sense of her body language and working style. As much as she didn’t like him, she did respect him, and it was a working relationship she would definitely miss when she got sent back home.

He surprised her yesterday, with how quickly he picked up on how panicked she was. She had been half expecting for him to throw her under the bus, she had definitely given him a reason to with the amount of yelling she had done over the years. But he went along with it. Apparently, they put on a pretty convincing act.

Convincing enough to send the paperwork police after them anyway.

She turned back to the document, reading it despite herself. It was something to do, something to keep her mind off of the 1,000-pound elephant sitting on her shoulders. The document was dense, spanning an entire sheet in small black type. It was standard jargon, for the most part, nothing too crazy. At the very bottom were three boxes:

\--Married

\--Engaged

\--Dating

She read through the boxes a few times, mulling over them, wasting entirely too much time on a piece of paper that was functionally useless.

Until suddenly, she was struck with an idea.

It was crazy, beyond crazy, it was certifiable.

But it also might be her only hope.

She needed to get married, soon. And she knew exactly the person to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a minute since I've written a rom-com AU! It feels good to be back, I'm really really freaking excited for this one. Hopefully you guys like the way this is starting out, I'm hyped to be able to write the enemies to loves with Clarke being the more antagonistic one this time. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I love hearing from y'all and your thoughts really do mean so much to me! :) 
> 
> Stay safe and healthy out there my loves <3


	2. Don't F**k it Up

__

* * *

_“Palm, palm, elbow, elbow, scrub, scrub, scrub, don’t forget under the nails,”_ Clarke thought to herself rubbing her hands vigorously under the running water. It was instinct at this point, a mechanical action, almost soothing in how repetitive and familiar it was. When she was little and first learning to wash her hands, her mom hadn’t taught her to sing the ABCs while holding them under warm water, she had taught her the proper way, the surgeon’s way. Clarke came from a long line of excellent surgeons and from day one, she was expected to wash her hands like one.

It didn’t go as well as Abby intended, most of the time she just ended up splashing a bunch of water onto the floor, ruining her clothes and making a mess. The process was time-consuming and her teachers often got annoyed when she held up the handwashing line after recess, but with time, she did, in fact, get the hang of it.

As an adult, the idea of teaching a five-year-old to employ hospital-grade handwashing procedures seemed a little ridiculous, but maybe there was some logic to what her mother had done. Clarke had never wanted to be anything other than a surgeon; her whole life was spent preparing for it, dreaming about it. It was such a big part of who she was, she wasn’t sure whether it was something that she chose or if it was a path assigned to her before she was even born. That was a huge reason why she decided to go to medical school in the U.S. instead of staying in Australia. This profession may have been chosen for her, but it was still her dream.

She wanted to do it on her own terms, not on anyone else’s.

Everyone had thought she was crazy, leaving behind a medical empire and starting completely from scratch, but it was what she always wanted. Her dad was American. He moved to Austalia for her mother, but his heart was always in Boston. In the spring, he would wear an old faded Red Socks sweatshirt and glue himself to the TV in the middle of the night, anxiously waiting for the game. Clarke had always been fascinated by the whole thing, sometimes she would creep out of her bed to watch with him. He usually tried to get her to go back to sleep, but her excitement always won him over in the end. After a while, he stopped protesting entirely and special ordered her a Red Socks hat. It became their thing, eating Oreos and watching baseball in the middle of the night, a secret just between the two of them.

Even now, she still had that old faded hat and sweatshirt—sometimes when she felt particularly lonely, she would put them on and watch old baseball highlights under her covers.

After Jake died, after everything that happened with her mom…Boston felt like a logical place to go. Even though she had never been there, the minute she landed, it felt like home. So many things reminded her of her dad, the accents, the rabid loyalty to the Red Socks, the way people took their coffee, or greeted strangers.

During her time at Harvard, Boston became her place too, a place where she was free to be whoever she wanted to. She experimented, dyed her hair red, started drinking her coffee black, dated a dazzling girl named Lexa who took her to art galleries, slowly but surely, through a lot of trial and error, she became the person she always wanted to be. That person grew to realize that red was not her color and Lexa was not meant to be her forever, but all those experiences were part of what made her who she was. This place had shaped her into the person that she was.

The thought of leaving this world she had built behind, of going back to a place she barely recognized anymore was gutwrenching. It was unfathomable. There was nothing left for her in Austalia, her mom was gone, the house was sold and her degree would be functionally useless. As much as she didn’t consider herself an unethical person, Clarke would do whatever it took to stay in the country she considered home, in the city where she built her life.

“Why’d you page me?” Bellamy asked, jerking Clarke out of her thoughts when he swung open the doorway to the sterile gallery. “I thought the bowel resection was over at 9:00.”

“It was. Went well, he should be home in a few days,” she said, wiping her hands with a towel, using it as a distraction to avoid his gaze.

“That’s great…but I still don’t understand why you needed me here,” he continued, propping his shoulder against the doorway, clearly irritated by the whole situation.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Well, this was definitely a bad idea. But Clarke was out of options, even if this was awkward and highly illegal, it was her only hope. She didn’t exactly like Bellamy, but he was the best man for the job. He was smart and adapted easily, he already knew all her mannerisms and they spent a decent amount of time together already.

“I uhh—need to talk to you about something. It’s kind of important,” she began, hoping he wouldn’t fight her too hard on this.

“Well…what is it?”

“We can’t talk about it here. There’s a chance someone might hear us—and that would be very very bad,” she said, tossing her crumpled paper towel in the trash as she stepped out of the scrub room and beckoned for him to follow.

She scanned the hallways, wracking her brain for a place they could go without security cameras or where they wouldn’t be interrupted. Honestly, she didn’t think she would get this far. He was following her silently, confused, but still cooperating.

Cliché as it was, she pointed to the on-call room, easing the door open slowly, hoping that there was nobody inside. They were in one of the emptier parts of the hospital and thankfully, all the beds were empty.

“You’re kind of freaking me out here,” Bellamy said, sitting heavily on the bed, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline when Clarke clicked the lock.

“Did you get that weird relationship disclosure form from HR?” she asked, sitting a comfortable distance away from Bellamy. He was right, she was being weird and the longer she spent trying to phrase this, the more awkward it would get. It was like ripping off a band-aid, she just needed to get it over with.

“Oh, yeah. It’s still in my locker. If I’m supposed to go clarify with them or something I will, they never brought it up again, so I figured the guy just forgot. Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem. Well, I mean, there is a problem but it’s not with the form.”

“What is it then? You’re acting like a coked-out squirrel.”

“Watch yourself, I’m still your boss,” she warned, despite herself. So much for trying to be friendly and peaceful.

“Yeah, and hanging out in an abandoned on-call room with you is not part of my job. So…tell me what’s going on or I’m getting the hell out of here.”

“I’m getting deported.”

“I know that already,” he sighed, flopping back on the bed, clearly exasperated with her.

“And I need to not get deported because I’ll lose my medical license. But the only way for me not to get deported is to get married,” she said, adding extra emphasis on the last few words, hoping he would get the point without her having to outrightly say it.

Bellamy scrunched his brow together, staring at her. Either he missed her point, or he was so horrified by her suggestion that she rendered him speechless. The silence between them was deafening and she longed to break it, but she didn’t know how. There wasn’t any rulebook on how to propose a fake marriage to your pseudo work-enemy.

“Are you…asking me to commit marriage fraud with you?” he asked, finally breaking the long stretch of silence. His shoulders shook, almost like he was trying to suppress a laugh, like he couldn’t believe that she was this desperate.

Clarke’s cheeks burned, she hated being vulnerable, hated asking for favors from people. She worked alone, always had, surgery wasn’t a team sport. She had always viewed asking for help as a weakness, a sign of personal failure. But she couldn’t do this alone. The error in her immigration paperwork was a personal failure, she couldn’t reason her way out of that. Her pride was bruised, but it would be worth it if he agreed.

If he didn’t agree—she could kiss her application for Chief of Surgery and her entire medical career goodbye.

“I’m asking you to enter a marriage of convenience with me.”

“It’s marriage fraud Clarke, and it’s illegal. You realize that I’m retired military, right? I can’t lie to the government. And forget lying to the government, we fight loudly and obviously in front of every single person in this hospital. There’s not a person here with a pulse that would believe we’re in love enough to get married,” Bellamy snapped, springing up from the small cot so he could pace around the room. He looked frazzled, his palms rubbing together in the way he only did when he was really stressed out.

“It would only be for two years, quick and easy.”

“This is literally insane, I cannot believe—”

“I can get you in at Jaha labs,” Clarke interrupted, hoping that her offer would be enough to extinguish this fire. “When this is over, if we pull this off…I can help you get that job.”

“There’s no way. It’s one of the most advanced pediatric clinical trials in the country, you can’t—”

“I can. Wells Jaha Pediatric Memorial Hospital. Wells Jaha was my childhood best friend. If I tell Thelonious that you’re the best person for the job. He will believe me,” she said, trying to keep herself from tearing up at the mention of Wells.

“I asked you for a recommendation two months ago and you said no,” he argued, visibly deflating from his initial anger.

“It’s not, uhhh—my relationship with that part of my life is complicated. It’s not something I would do under normal circumstances, but this isn’t a normal circumstance. You would be doing me a huge favor…and you’re one of the most talented residents I’ve ever met. If you help me get my citizenship, then I can put my past aside and talk to Thelonious for you,” she continued, confidence growing slightly as Bellamy sat back down.

It worked.

She was really hoping that she wouldn’t need to pull the Thelonious card, but it was a worthy price to pay. He was doing her a huge solid, the least she could do was give him something in return. Even if it meant confronting some of her demons in the process.

“What if I meet someone during the two years?” he asked, leaning back against the wall, eyes glued to the ceiling.

“It’s a marriage of convenience, you can do what you want,” she shrugged, almost giddy over the idea that he was seriously considering her proposal.

“You realize if this doesn’t work, we’re both going to end up in jail, right? And we’ll lose our licenses…”

“Yeah, it’s why I asked you. You’re the only person I could think of that’s smart enough to actually pull this off.”

“You complimented me twice in one conversation, that’s how I know this is serious,” he joked, trying to cut through some of the tension in the room. It didn’t really work. But his comment ticked her off in just the right way, enough to derail the conversation slightly.

“I’ve complimented you before…”

“You really haven’t. Telling me ‘wow, you didn’t fuck it up this time.’ Isn’t a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it, marrying me doesn’t mean I’m going to start throwing compliments around. They lose their meaning when you use them too often.”

“Typical,” he snorted, shaking his head as he smirked at her.

“We’re getting away from the point. I’m losing my license either way. This is a risk I’m willing to take. The question is…are you?”

There was a long pause as Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, leaving his long curls wild as he mulled over her proposition.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Griffin.”

***

“How exactly is this going to convince people that we’re together?” Clarke whispered, dipping underneath one of the pool lanes so Bellamy could hear her.

The healthplex was empty at this time, it always was. The number of people who wanted to swim laps before a 6am hospital shift was incredibly low, and the university gym didn’t open to the regular patrons until 7:30.

It was part of why Clarke always worked out in the mornings, it gave her a precious few hours to herself before the day began. Time for her to gather her thoughts, prepare herself for the day ahead. The pool was part of her ritual, the water was cool, calming, reminded her of childhood days spent floating aimlessly in her backyard. It was her time, her favorite part of the day.

Bellamy was always there too, in his overly tight swim shorts, swimming aggressive laps and splashing water everywhere. While Clarke preferred calm movements like breaststroke or freestyle, Bellamy opted for butterfly and violent flip turns.

His presence was normally the only part of her early morning workouts she didn’t like, but there was usually enough space for them to stay on opposite ends of the pool, avoiding each other completely. They never acknowledge each other, not even a courtesy wave, just finished their separate workouts and left.

Whether or not Clarke usually wrapped up early to watch him do his cooldown laps on her way to the locker room, was neither here nor there. The man had a nice body and she was only human.

Things had definitely changed in the past few days, because suddenly they had gone from completely ignoring each other to swimming laps side by side. There didn’t really seem to be a point to it, considering that there was nobody else in sight. But Bellamy seemed intent on this plan. She was still kind of in disbelief that he agreed to this whole thing in the first place, so she was just along for the ride.

Bellamy dipped under the lane, stepping just close enough into her space to send her pulse skyrocketing.

“Five…four…three…two…” he said, counting down each number of a finger as he stepped closer and closer.

Sure enough, before he could get to one…the pool door banged open to reveal Josephine and Gabriel. They rounded the corner just in time to see Bellamy step back carefully away from Clarke before hopping out of the pool in one fluid motion.

Every muscle in his back flexed with the movement and it took all of Clarke’s willpower to keep her jaw from hitting the ground. Objectively, she always knew Bellamy was ripped. It was obvious even with his clothes on. His shoulders usually pulled on the seams on his scrubs just slightly, showing just a hint of what was lying underneath. Not that she was looking or anything. But seeing it up close, the flex of each muscle, the sheer broadness of his frame, it was—hard to ignore. If she wasn’t standing in a freezing cold pool, she probably would’ve needed a cool shower.

Of course, the guy she was fake marrying was obscenely hot and of course, he was incredibly annoying in every possible way.

Clarke could feel Josephine’s eyes on them as Bellamy reached out to help her climb out of the pool. Normally, she would’ve protested, but she was still a little distracted by how good he looked without a shirt on.

He lifted her with ease, further adding to the fantasies that were unwillingly brewing in her head and left his hand lingering for a little longer than strictly necessary on her lower back as they walked toward the locker rooms together.

“The seed is planted,” he whispered with a conspiratorial grin, flicking his gaze back subtly to where Josephine and Gabriel were still standing on the pool deck.

“How did you know they would be here?” she asked, a little shocked at how good Bellamy was at scheming.

“I usually pass them on my way out. It’s totally believable that we meet up here every morning and we just got a little sloppy with our timing today. Plus, Josephine hates you…so she’ll totally talk shit about this later,” he shrugged, not waiting for her response as he walked toward the men’s locker room. “I’ll meet you outside.”

Clarke watched his retreating form. Strangely, this actually might work. Bellamy was sneaky and smart. If only her taste is real romantic partners were as good as her taste in fake husbands.

Bellamy was a perfect choice.

The only problem was, that her body didn’t seem to have gotten the memo that she wasn’t supposed to be attracted to him. She had long since gotten used to the fact that Bellamy was hot. But it was a completely different ballgame when he was shirtless and constantly touching her. They had only been doing this for a few days and her skin was already prickling with lingering arousal from the way he lifted her out of the pool.

The sound of people moving around her knocked her out of her thoughts, sent her hurrying into the women’s locker room. But despite her best efforts, she couldn’t shake the vague horniness over what had just happened.

This was bad. It was only the beginning. They would have to touch each other a lot more, probably share a bed, hug, kiss. If she was this riled up over a few touches, this wouldn’t last long.

It didn’t mean anything. It had been a while since she got laid, it was just an itch that needed to be scratched.

She momentarily considered getting herself off in the shower before putting on her scrubs, but there wasn’t really enough time and the idea of masturbating in a public bathroom was a little disgusting. It was probably also not a good habit to get into considering that sleeping with her fake husband was off the table. This didn’t need to be any more complicated than it already was.

If she was going to survive this, she was going to need to invest in a more expensive vibrator, maybe one of those clit sucking ones with all the bells and whistles.

***

Bellamy ran his thumb over the thin scrap of red lace fabric sitting in his pocket. His brain almost drained out of his ear when Clarke shoved her underwear into his pocket in the middle of the hospital parking lot. It was all part of the plan, dropping her thong on accident in the resident locker room. After the Josephine set-up earlier, it was a slam dunk. But he couldn’t quite get over the fact that he was holding Clarke’s underwear. Presumably, these were unworn, but they were more scandalous than he was expecting. The idea of her wearing this—and nothing else, was enough to leave him half hard.

He knew what he was getting into when he did this, knew that his body liked Clarke a lot more than his brain did. But in practice, it was more difficult than he expected. She was hot, especially when she was wearing something other than scrubs. At the rate things were going, he was going to become well acquainted with cold showers.

The locker room was crowded, he was late and everyone around him was bustling, running through notes, re-lacing their tennis shoes, and chatting animatedly about their procedures for the day. It was the perfect opportunity. Carefully, he shifted the thong to the corner of his pocket before easing open his locker door and knocking one of his binders just enough that it fell out.

Right on cue, the underwear fell to the ground as he bent over. It was quick, only a few seconds before he picked up the red thong and shoved it back in his pocket, but it was enough. When he stood back up, the entire locker room was silent—and Josephine was looking at him with the world’s most smug smile.

“Whose underwear was that Bellamy?” she asked, lifting one eyebrow at him like she was daring him to lie.

“Honestly, that’s none of your business…” he shrugged, shoving his binder back into his locker and slamming the door.

A flurry of hushed whispers filled the air. He knew it would. For the most part, Bellamy kept his head down, stayed out of hospital gossip. He had never dated any fellow residents…or nurses or anyone else at Arkadia Memorial. His lack of action was always a source of mystery, left people wondering exactly what his deal was. This panty drop was akin to throwing gasoline on a fire, if Josephine didn’t spill the beans, people would be picking this apart for weeks.

“You’re sure those aren’t Dr. Griffin’s panties?” she continued, chewing on her bottom lip as she delivered the line, clearly taking a lot of satisfaction in the way she said ‘Dr. Griffin’. “We saw you two at the pool this morning…you seem awfully cozy.”

Bellamy paused, trying to look sufficiently awkward as he shuffled through his papers for the day, arranging them in his binder. He could feel every set of eyes in the room on him, especially as the hushed whispers grew in volume.

“We filed the paperwork this morning so I guess I might as well just be honest. Clarke and I have been dating for a year,” he said matter-of-factly, shrugging with a sheepish smile before he collected his binder and weaved through the crowd.

He could hear the scandalized discussion through the door, but he didn’t really care. The damage had been done, people knew, and everyone seemed to believe it.

He had been skeptical honestly, but this was going a lot more smoothly than he expected. Hospital administration barely registered their paperwork submission yesterday and all his co-workers took their bait with little convincing.

It felt suspicious, like the other shoe hadn’t dropped yet.

There had to be more to this, it couldn’t be this easy.

But he didn’t have time to think about that right now. He had surgery with his soon to be wife and even if they were about to get married, she would probably yell at him if he was late. Before anyone else could follow him out of the locker room, he jogged away, skimming his notes on the surgery as he made his way toward the operating room.

It was a rare one, Hirschsprung’s disease. The treatment wasn’t complex, a standard bowel resection, but the disease itself was relatively uncommon. Clarke promised him that he would get to take the lead, that this was his surgery. To say he was excited was an understatement.

“The residents know about us, by the way,” he said to Clarke, kissing her temple as he moved to scrub his hands beside her. They needed to really commit to this if it was going to be convincing, it had to be perfect, not too over the top but still familiar. But the intimacy of it felt unnatural, a confusing mix of warmth and discomfort churning in his stomach. Her hair smelled like jasmine, light and floral, with a tinge of chlorine from the pool this morning.

He caught the scrub nurse eying them with a raised eyebrow through the gallery window, gaze flicking away when he acknowledged her. It wasn’t as satisfying as the moment in the locker room. That had been planned, satisfying. This caught him off guard, he was used to feeling a lot of things for Clarke…mostly strong dislike, respect, and the occasional wave of attraction. But that—was different, it was a little too real for his liking.

He needed to get a hold of himself. This was a big surgery for him, he needed to focus. The last thing he needed was to get distracted by the smell of his boss’s hair.

“Yeah, a nurse already asked me about it. Word travels fast around here,” she grinned, giving him a cheeky wink as she shook off her wet hands, sliding them into a clean pair of gloves. “But we’re not here to talk about us. We’re here for your very first lead surgery. So, here’s your daily reminder, don’t fuck it up, Blake.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, sliding on his own gloves and pushing past her to enter the OR. At least some things would never change. He was glad that at least in the operating room, Clarke was still kind of a dick. It was much more confusing to deal with her when she was being nice, harder to compartmentalize, this morning had proven that for sure. 

Despite his worries, all thought of his fake relationship, and Clarke’s hair disappeared the second the bright overhead surgical lights clicked on. Bellamy wanted to be a doctor his entire life. He wanted to take care of people, to save lives. But he understood from a young age that jobs like this didn’t just happen to kids who grew up like he did. So, he fought tooth and nail to get into this OR. Years in heavy gear, breathing in dust, watching people he loved die, the embarrassment of being older than everyone else in his class, of having people wonder why he was here in the first place.

He never took operating for granted. Every time he got to do this, he remembered what it took to get him here. He got to give people a second chance at life and that was a huge gift.

With a deep breath, he made the first cut, fighting the urge to look up at Clarke for reassurance. She’d yelled at him a million times before for doing it, so he knew better than to now. She always told him that good surgeons never looked for reassurance, that if you weren’t confident in what you were doing, you shouldn’t be cutting in the first place.

A lot of Clarke’s mannerisms irritated him, she was entitled in a way that he never had the luxury of being. But she did put on a good front, it sometimes seemed like nothing could shake her. He wished he had that kind of confidence, at least naturally. He’d been told he was cocky, more than a few times, but it was mostly for show. The idea of being 100% sure of something, felt nearly impossible, but he had to at least try.

So, he zoned in on the surgery, throwing all his mental energy into the task at hand. Before he knew it. It was over.

“Congratulations Dr. Blake,” Clarke said, peeling off her gloves as the nurses moved to wheel away the patient. “You actually did it.”

“Just once, could you just let me have this moment?” He groaned, dumping his protective gear into the bin.

“I’ll consider it—” she began, but before she could finish, Murphy skid in from seemingly out of nowhere.

And he looked—pissed.

“I’ve been your best friend for your entire life, and I find out you’re dating your boss from a fucking intern?” he seethed, raising his eyebrows at Bellamy expectantly.

Fuck.

He totally forgot about Murphy.

There it was, the other shoe. This was what he had been forgetting, the final catch.

“I’ll leave you two alone…it seems like you have some things to sort out…” Clarke said awkwardly, easing herself out of the conversation and dipping into a nearby patient room, throwing Bellamy an unsure shrug as she slipped past the doorway.

“I—I—Murph, listen…it’s not,” he began, desperately searching for a way to explain this without pissing off his friend even more. It was unlikely that Murphy would buy a lie, he knew Bellamy too well, knew how to catch him in an inconsistency. But the truth wasn’t a possibility either. Not when what they were doing was technically illegal.

If they got caught, anyone who knew would go down with them. He couldn’t do that, couldn’t wrap anyone else up in this disaster. Murphy was still active duty, if he implicated himself in a federal crime, he would get court marshaled…and dishonorably discharged and Bellamy couldn’t let that happen. Not after everything they had been through together.

“You lied to me Bellamy—for an entire year. And then when you finally decided to tell the truth, you tell every fucking resident before you tell me? That’s messed up, you have to know that’s messed up…”

“It’s messed up. If you want to punch me in the face, I totally get it.”

“I don’t need your permission to punch you, if I wanted to do that, I would’ve done it already.”

“I’m sorry. Seriously. It’s just…really complicated and I didn’t want to drag anyone else into it until I was sure,” he sighed, leaning heavily against the white brick wall. He had pretty much forgotten that he couldn’t get married in secret and then hide it for the next two years. If he was going to do this, he would have to drag everyone he loved into it.

This might be a slightly bigger lie than he anticipated.

“Clearly,” Murphy snapped, still visibly irritated about the situation. If there was one thing he didn’t like, it was being lied to and this lie was a lie of epic proportions. “You haven’t dated anyone in years. Why her, why now?”

“She’s not as bad as everyone thinks. I don’t know Murph, she just gets me, we make sense together,” Bellamy tried, hoping that his lie was at least somewhat convincing. He was essentially talking out of his ass, repeating things that Octavia said about her husband when she was drunk.

“If I didn’t know better, I would think that you’re faking this because you have to see Gina next weekend, but Clarke isn’t cool enough to go along with something like that.”

Bellamy choked on air for a minute, hoping that Murphy didn’t notice his reaction. That was a little too close to the truth for his comfort. Not that he really cared about seeing Gina, they broke up four years ago, she was married. Sure, it sucked to see your ex move on, but he was over it. Nobody else ever seemed to believe him though. He didn’t go home often, but whenever he did, everyone made a huge deal about her presence, walked on eggshells around him. It was annoying beyond belief. Maybe this was an added perk of this whole thing, maybe his sister and friends would finally leave his love life alone.

He was so busy mulling over the Gina situation that he barely registered Murphy’s mention of Octavia’s birthday and their trip home.

“You’re bringing Clarke with you, right? To the beach house?” he asked, still relatively oblivious to everything running through Bellamy’s head.

Turned out, amid all the chaos of the past few days, a lot of things had slipped his mind…namely, his sister’s birthday party. He needed to go home, next weekend…and he had to take Clarke with him.

“Uh…yeah, I figured it's about time she met everyone anyway. We’ve been talking about getting married,” Bellamy said, bracing himself for a punch in the face at the revelation.

This was going to be a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! I'm really excited about this fic, it's been a while since I've been able to write something funny. I'm so so so happy to hear you guys like the premise. Also, one month till premier y'all, let's get it. 
> 
> Thank you for all you kind words and encouragement, I love y'all. I always like to hear what you all think so feel free to drop me a few words. I love to read your takes and suggestions :) 
> 
> Stay safe, stay well <3


	3. Bologna Sandwiches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Elora_Lane for being my second set of eyes on this fic and always being there to bounce ideas off of!! Much love to ya friend :)

* * *

Bellamy shifted the McDonald’s bag back and forth in his hands, tapping his foot nervously as the elevator climbed higher and higher. This building was nice, way nicer than he was expecting, and he felt woefully out of place in his worn scrubs holding a greasy bag of fast food.

With a ding, the doors opened to reveal an extremely fancy hallway with plush navy carpets and dangling chandelier style light fixtures.

“You live here?” Bellamy asked, smirking slightly when Clarke finally answered the door, phone propped between her shoulder and ear. She ignored him, gesturing for him to follow her inside as she wrapped up her conversation, clearly stressed.

He held the bag a little closer to his body, scanning the room for a good place to put it down. Clarke had just kind of left him in the living room. Her very expensive, pristinely clean living room. Every single piece of furniture was white, with spotless silver finishes and plenty of crystal décor. This place was a hell of a lot nicer than the two-bedroom he shared with Murphy—and lately, Emori too. It felt wrong to put a greasy fast food bag on her sparkling glass table, but he didn’t really have anywhere else to put it.

There were so many reasons why Bellamy didn’t think this would work, but standing in Clarke’s apartment, seeing the kind of world she lived in, the life she came from…it amplified his doubts tenfold.

They had nothing in common.

In real life, it would take circumstances short of a miracle for him to feel comfortable in an apartment like this. His stomach knotted tightly, all the confidence he had from earlier quickly slipping away. This was going to be a harder sell than he thought.

“Sorry, that was my lawyer,” Clarke said, reappearing from behind a set of ornate French doors. She was wearing pajamas, a soft white sweater, and worn grey joggers. It was weird to see her in clothes other than her scrubs, with her hair pulled back in a messy braid. Like this, she almost looked—normal, like someone he could hang out with without being constantly on edge.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, digging through the bag for a handful of fries, still unsure as to whether or not Clarke would strangle him if he got grease on her table.

“Apparently, our engagement raised some red flags. An immigration officer interviewed people from work and by all accounts, we can’t stand each other. The glowing reviews combined with the convenient timing set off alarm bells. They want us to come in for an interview,” she replied, voice tinged with just enough nervousness to make Bellamy’s stomach churn. With a closed mouth smile, she took the bag from him, tossing it onto the couch as she made herself comfortable.

“That’s…the worst outcome possible.”

“I know, that’s why I asked you to come over.”

“What’re we going to do?” he sighed, sitting heavily on the other edge of the couch.

“I’m giving you an out. This is clearly not going to go as smoothly as we hoped, if you don’t want to do this, I can’t force you.”

He almost choked on his fry in surprise, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline at Clarke’s words. An out was the last thing he had been expecting. An overly detailed, elaborate plan? Absolutely. But not this. In all his panic, he had never considered trying to get out of their agreement. It didn’t feel right, it was too early, they couldn’t give up so easily.

“I never pegged you as a quitter Griffin…” 

“I’m not a quitter, but you could get arrested if this goes south. It doesn’t feel right to put you in that position.”

Bellamy chewed on a fry, softening a bit as he watched Clarke tug nervously at the end of her braid. Turned out, the ice princess did, in fact, have a heart. She looked worn down, exhausted, without her make-up on it was obvious she hadn’t been sleeping well, that her lip was split from being chewed on constantly. He felt a pang of sympathy for her, an odd compulsion to comfort her somehow. He quickly pushed the urge away, knowing that she would probably bite his hand off if he tried.

“I’m getting something out of this too remember?” he said finally, pulling his eyes away from her to scan the room. There were very few personal touches, the décor straight out of an IKEA catalog, the whole place felt almost like a showroom. He wondered whether she ever felt lonely in here, how anyone could ever feel comfortable in such a clinical space.

“I know that. But I wanted to make sure you understand what you’re in for, I’m not holding you hostage or anything.”

“I’m a big boy Clarke, I can manage a few questions from an immigration officer,” he said, digging through the bag to find his burger, tossing one over to Clarke before he continued. “It’s too late to back out now anyway, I already told my sister you’re coming to her birthday party next weekend.”

He tossed it in casually, hoping that Clarke wouldn’t protest too much. Based on the lack of photos around her home, Clarke didn’t have many people in her life. He wasn’t sure whether she understood that he couldn’t get married without his family knowing, how unconvincing this would all seem if it was done in secret.

“Wait—what? You never said anything about—” she began, brows furrowing deeply as she processed his words.

“I have a—complicated family situation. There’s a lot of people who would be homicidally pissed at me if I got married without telling them. If we don’t get them on board, there is no way that we can pull this off. It won’t be a big deal, it’s just a few days. My sister is going to be your hardest sell. If we can get her on our side, we’re set,” he interrupted, rambling slightly, hoping that what he was saying made sense.

Clarke ran her hand over her collarbone, clearly stressed by what he had just said.

“I don’t do well with families.”

“My family isn’t a normal family. They’re cool, I promise it won’t be a huge deal. We do a big meet up every year for Octavia’s birthday, this is the perfect time for you to meet everyone at once.”

“I guess you’re right, it would look weird if we’ve supposedly been dating for this long and your family doesn’t know who I am.”

“Exactly. Plus, there’s so many of them, you’re guaranteed to like at least a few.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” Clarke sighed, flopping back against the cushions. She carefully unwrapped her burger, biting into it with a surprising amount of enthusiasm for someone who looked like they’d never touched fast food in their life. She looked as if that particular bite of soggy fast-food burger was the most amazing thing she had ever tasted. It was fascinating, how intensely she focused on her food. All Bellamy could focus on was the way her face looked completely content, the way her eyes rolled back just slightly. That really shouldn’t be hot as it was.

“I—uh, I brought some pictures so we could go through everybody. It’ll be good practice for our immigration meeting,” he recovered, tearing his eyes away from Clarke’s mouth so he could dig through his worn army backpack.

It had taken him a while to collect photos of everyone, there were a lot of them and most of the army pictures were hard to decipher. He went back and forth about which ones he should choose, which ones would best represent each of the people he cared about most. In the end, it was quite a large stack, with a photo of him and Octavia right at the top.

Clarke’s gaze drifted toward the pictures, a flicker of something he couldn’t quite place crossing her face.

“I think we should go over a few more basic details first,” she said quietly, taking another bite of her burger before looking at him expectantly, clearly eager to change the subject. “We need to make sure our story is consistent.”

“We should just be as honest as possible. It was what they told us during military training, if you have to lie, it’s easier to keep it consistent if you stay close to what you know.”

“They teach you to lie in the army?”

“Only if national security or the safety of your unit is at risk,” Bellamy shrugged, finally relaxing back against the couch. It was about as uncomfortable as it looked, but he felt surprisingly at ease sitting here with Clarke. Seeing her in her element, in her PJs, eating a cheap burger, it was humanizing.

“Interesting,” she replied, seeming genuinely interested in his background. Shocking, considering she blew off his military experience at work on the regular. “So, we met at work?”

“We didn’t meet at work though…”

“Yeah, we did. I remember it was the first day of your intern year. You interrupted me in the middle of rounds with the wrong answer.”

“It wasn’t the wrong answer it was just a different answer than the one you would’ve given. And we met before then, I can’t believe you don’t remember…” he teased, relishing in the way a flash of red was creeping up Clarke’s neck. This always happened when she got irritated, obviously, she didn’t like that he was holding information over her. The familiarity between them had been new and uncomfortable but antagonizing, and bickering, they were good at that.

“I literally have no idea,” she admitted, chewing on her lip as she tried to backtrack four years of their interactions.

“We met at a coffee shop, the morning before my first day. You stole my coffee—”

“Flat white, sugar-free vanilla no foam,” Clarke finished, rolling her eyes as the memory came back to her. “That’s my order. You stole _my_ order.”

“I’m pretty sure I ordered first,” he said smugly, purposely slurping on his straw smugly as she fumed at him. “Not that you cared when you totally bitched me out in front of about 40 people.”

Clarke at least had the decency to blush, turning her focus back to her burger just to have something to do. Bellamy smirked at her, dodging when she chucked a fry at his head. He threw the fry back, chuckling as she muttered to herself about the stupid coffee shop.

Even though they were technically arguing, he was enjoying himself and that was absolutely something that wasn’t supposed to happen.

He didn’t know what to do with this version of Clarke, the human version of her. The ice queen, power-hungry caricature he thought of her as at work, wasn’t the person sitting in front of him.

The more of her he saw, the more he realized that he spent the past four years despising a person that he barely knew at all.

***

Clarke twisted the cheap Etsy engagement ring around her finger nervously, hoping that the replica was convincing enough that nobody would notice that the ring was blatantly fake. Her mother would’ve known in an instant, would’ve held it up to the light and immediately scoffed at the small piece of glass. But this immigration officer was likely less discerning as her mother. Hopefully, if they kept their stories straight, this would be a quick in and out conversation.

This interview, combined with the idea of meeting Bellamy’s family, was enough to keep her up at night. She had expected some kind of relief, with a solution to her deportation issue, but it had just brought on a different kind of stress. Now she lived in constant fear of getting caught, of having the immigration officer laugh in her face and stick her on a plane back home.

Could she really handle two years of this? Two years of being constantly on edge? Of being married to someone who clearly didn’t like her, someone who she wasn’t sure she really liked either.

Did she like Bellamy? Five days ago, she would have said no, but she wasn’t really sure anymore. He was still annoying as fuck, cocky too, but something was intriguing about him, something she wanted to dig further into.

“Stop fidgeting, you look guilty,” Bellamy murmured, nudging her with his elbow. They were sitting across from an empty desk, waiting for an immigration officer to grill them about their relationship. He seemed oddly calm considering. By all accounts, the interview was going to be aggressive and very invasive.

It made sense that he wasn’t worried, he had plenty of experience with authority. Often, Clarke found Bellamy to be overly rigid, but in this case, it was working in his favor. He barely seemed bothered by what was going on, absently picking at his nailbeds. He had classic surgeon’s hands, smooth and perfectly clean, with blunt, filed nails. They looked strong, steady and a part of her wanted to reach out, to seek comfort in their ease.

It was good, this would make things more convincing, she rationalized, reaching over to twine her fingers through his.

If Bellamy cared, he didn’t show it. He just returned her grip, his skin warm, just rough enough to ground her.

Whatever insult she was about to snap back at him died on her lips when he absently rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand, keeping his eyes trained forward, studying the folders stacked neatly on the desk.

It had been a long time since someone touched her like this, so casually intimate. For a moment she forgot how to think, all she could focus on was the way his hand was wrapped around hers. Bellamy was naturally affectionate, kisses on the temple, soft touches, a hand on her lower back. It wasn’t something she was used to, and it made her feel a tinge of jealousy for the relationship he had with his family. Even when she was young, her family hadn’t been one for snuggling or holding hands. The way Bellamy acted, coupled with the enormous stack of family pictures he’d shown her last night was enough for her to know that he came from a completely different world that she did. What was second nature behavior to him, was incredibly confusing and far too intimate for her liking.

She just had to keep reminding herself that this wasn’t real.

Even if this felt good, it was just her loneliness talking. Nothing had changed, this was a marriage of convenience and nothing more. She needed to keep her thoughts under control, needed to remember why they were here. She would need to get used to these casual touches, maybe with time, she would be able to enjoy it without her brain getting ahead of her body.

With a click of the door, a sleek, tall, thin woman appeared. She was dressed sharply, much more sharply than Clarke had expected a government employee to look. At the sight of her, Clarke relaxed slightly. This was good. Uptight and bitchy she could handle. She had plenty of experience with women who wore the kind of shoes meant for stabbing men in the chest. Both because she kind of was one and because she had dated her fair share of them.

“I’m Ontari, you must be Dr. Clarke Griffin and Dr. Bellamy Blake,” the woman said matter of factly, barely looking up from her folder as she spoke. Her features were sharp, harsh, expression neutral without a hint of friendliness. It was phrased as a question, but she didn’t wait for an answer, just barreled on with her introduction. She detailed the extensive repercussions of committing marriage fraud, making sure to elaborate that they would both have their medical licenses revoked and receive jail time if they were found guilty.

“That would be concerning if we were committing marriage fraud, but we aren’t,” Clarke said simply, squeezing Bellamy’s hand a little tighter to emphasize her point.

“Well that’s up to me to decide isn’t it?” Ontari smirked, eyeing Clarke’s ring with a raised eyebrow. “According to what I have here, by all accounts you two fight often at work and can’t seem to stand each other. In fact, one person we interviewed stated that you get into loud screaming matches in public areas of the hospital. It seems rather suspicious that you’re suddenly engaged. Especially with Dr. Griffin’s visa expiring in a matter of months.”

“Clarke is technically my boss, we didn’t want to make anything too public until we were sure that it was serious and that all the paperwork was filed correctly. As for the fighting—it kind of does it for us, if you catch my drift,” Bellamy answered, sounding just as casual as they practiced. The innuendo wasn’t scripted, but it was a nice touch, especially when combined with his slightly sheepish smile.

“We’re both private people, I don’t tend to talk about my personal life with my co-workers,” she agreed, trying to keep her tone from getting too aggressive. “Even though we’re dating, our professional styles differ and that can lead to conflict. I think that heated discussion can sometimes be misinterpreted by people, but you need to understand that we’re discussing matters of life and death.”

“And the timing?” Ontari asked, clearly unimpressed by their story. She tapped her pen against her desk, perfectly manicured nails catching the light just slightly.

“We’ve been together for about a year…” Clarke began, glancing at Bellamy in that way couples often did when they were telling a story, waiting for him to nod in agreement. “But we’ve known each other for much longer, close to four years in total. We were friends first, just bonding over work and our terrible hours, a lot of late nights in the operating room, and in the skills lab. Once we started dating though, everything just kind of took off.”

“We just understand each other. Since we had been friends for so long, it felt like second nature once we started dating. Things have been going so well for both of us and it’s different than any other relationship I’ve ever been in. I was planning on proposing next weekend at my family reunion, but when Clarke got news of her immigration issues, it just made sense to push up the timeline a little. A big proposal in the grand scheme of our lives doesn’t really mean anything,” he finished, rubbing his thumb over Clarke’s ring as he spoke about their engagement.

Ontari hummed, sounding bored as she scribbled something in her folder, throwing them a few questions about how often they spend time together outside of work, about their debt, their families.

“Dr. Griffin, it’s noted in this file that we couldn’t find much about your personal connections in our database. No family, even among co-workers, none of the interviewees seemed to be particularly close friends with you…”

Clarke reared back at the harshness of the statement, trying desperately not to let the sting of what had been said show on her face. But even if she tried to ignore it, hearing that said out loud hurt. It felt like she’d been slapped across the face. She kept to herself, wasn’t very good at making herself vulnerable…it didn’t lend well to having a lot of friends. Her track record with loved ones wasn’t fantastic, in fact, it felt like everyone she loved died tragically. It just didn’t feel like it was worth the effort to give her heart to people anymore, it hurt too much.

“Are you asking a question or are you just trying to make her feel like shit?” Bellamy asked, tone turning sharp as he interrupted the line of questioning. He placed his hand protectively on Clarke’s thigh, almost like he was somehow trying to shield her from the interview.

It was surprising, to say the least.

She didn’t know what to do, how she was supposed to react. Was this a genuine reaction? Could he tell that she was upset? Or was this all for the show?

One week into all this and her brain was already scrambled.

She really should’ve picked someone less attractive.

“On paper, I don’t have a lot of family either. But family is more than just your relatives. I’m a veteran of the U.S. Army, was a medic for almost ten years and my squad is more family than most people are lucky to have in their lives. That’s who we’re going to visit next weekend, at my captain’s house on Hilton Head. They’re Clarke’s family now and so am I, so whatever you’re trying to imply here, I would reconsider.”

“I see…” Ontari said, dropping the line of questioning entirely, suddenly a little less smug than she was a few seconds ago. “So, who all exactly will be in attendance this weekend?” she asked, looking directly at Clarke.

“Bellamy’s sister Octavia, her husband Lincoln, their daughter Sophie, his best friend Murphy, his new girlfriend Emori who’s also a nurse at our hospital, Monty and Harper, their son Jordan, Miller and Brian, Raven…” she listed off, going through the names, glad that she drilled herself with the pictures hundreds of times in preparation for this exact moment. Years upon years of tireless studying had given her the gift of being able to remember almost anything and for the first time, it was helping her in a non-medical setting. If she was in any other situation, it would’ve been extremely satisfying, but she was way too nervous to be smug right now.

The interview continued like this, in a series of quizzes and invasive, borderline hostile questions. Bellamy’s hand remained on Clarke’s thigh throughout, constant reassurance that although they weren’t necessarily friends, they were in this together.

“Dr. Blake, there is also the consideration that Dr. Griffin is your superior. Can you affirm for me that you aren’t receiving any type of work-related benefits through this relationship? That this is, in fact, a strictly romantic arrangement with no other outside influences?” Ontari asked, once again seeming to take great pleasure in being allowed to ask rude questions.

At this point, Clarke was at her wit’s end with the interview. They had been beaten down and grilled in about a million different directions. Every possible angle that she could dig into, Ontari managed to hit. It was humiliating and exhausting and something about her really rubbed Clarke the wrong way. Probably the fact that she was getting a lot of enjoyment out of making them miserable.

“If you’re implying that Dr. Blake, an extremely talented surgeon who earned a spot in one of the most competitive residency programs in the world on his own merit and risked his life in Afghanistan for the freedom of this country, needs my help to achieve any type of professional goal then you are extremely out of line. You can question our relationship all you want, that’s your job, I get that. But Bellamy is one of the most intelligent and dedicated residents I know and it’s frankly inappropriate for you to suggest otherwise,” Clarke snapped, fully knowing that she was lashing out at someone that she shouldn’t be pissing off but she just couldn’t help it. This woman was the absolute worst and if she didn’t leave with at least one jab, it would drive her completely insane.

Plus, everything she said was technically true. Bellamy wasn’t her favorite person, but there were no doubts that he was a talented doctor. She may be committing marriage fraud, but she couldn’t let this woman criticize him like that, especially since she knew how hard he worked. It was part of why she was so harsh with him. He had the potential to be amazing, but he wasted so much time being cocky—the last thing he needed was to have her blow smoke up his ass, so she took the tough love approach. It may not make her popular, but it made sure that their job got done correctly. But the tough love only applied to her and hearing someone else imply that Bellamy was sleeping his way to the top made her blood boil.

By the way that Ontari’s face contorted into a frown, she knew she had said the wrong thing.

Shit.

“I apologize for any offense, but this is all part of the protocol,” she began, voice sharp, somehow even colder than it had been earlier on. “Based on what I’ve heard from you _both_ today, I cannot confidently affirm that this marriage meets the federal standard. This department takes fraud allegations very, very seriously and I am putting you under further review for potential marriage fraud. I will need the information on the beach house you’re visiting next weekend, you are officially under investigation Dr. Griffin and Dr. Blake. Please keep in mind that until the investigation is completed, being married will not absolve Dr. Griffin of her immigration woes, so don’t bother with anything too slick.”

This was bad, this was very very very bad.

***

“The one time, the only time in the four years we’ve known each other, you decide to say anything nice about me and it’s to spite an immigration officer? An immigration officer who now fucking hates us and has the power to put us in jail,” Bellamy fumed, fingers flexing around the steering wheel, the veins in the back of his hand popping out as he struggled to keep his temper under control. “I hope you like orange jumpsuits and bologna sandwiches because we’re beyond fucked.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen, her defending him had never been part of the plan. Sure, he defended her first, but her reaction had been way more aggressive than his. He wasn’t surprised that Ontari rubbed Clarke the wrong way, in a work setting, Clarke would’ve absolutely ripped her head off. It probably drove her crazy that someone else had power over her, that someone else could be a total bitch to her face with no recourse.

It was good—a taste of her own medicine. It would be funny if it didn’t directly affect him.

“Where are you going?” she asked, completely avoiding her outburst from earlier. It was probably for the best, it was just a visceral reaction to Ontari’s baiting, it had nothing to do with him at all.

“If we’re going to jail, we might as well drink,” he shrugged, keeping his eyes trained on the road, trying to get his temper under control.

“I have a bottle of champagne and some wine back—”

“On my terms,” he interrupted, not even bothering to entertain the idea of drinking anything fancy right now. He needed liquor, cheap and easy, in part to help dull the sting of an impending federal investigation. An investigation that he was going to impose on his entire family.

Without another word, he pulled into the lot of a worn-down bar. In his haste, he’d turned into a less than ideal part of town, a part that he knew all too well. He hadn’t grown up here but it resembled the area he grew up in more closely than he cared to admit. The town drunk still sat on the curb by the entrance of the liquor store, a brown bag of whiskey pressed to his lips. Right beside him were kids on bikes, drinking coke from plastic bottles, completely obvious to the world around them.

That had been him once, carefree and wild. He and Murphy used to ride around on their bikes for hours, launching bottle rockets, throwing rocks at cars. It wasn’t exactly a happy time in his life, but things were simpler back then.

The bar was empty, except for a few older men perched on barstools, nursing watered-down glasses of whiskey. Bellamy ordered a pitcher of beer, gesturing for Clarke to find a seat while he paid. She looked distinctly uncomfortable, nervously glancing around the room, tugging self-consciously at her clothes. Weirdly, she probably felt as uneasy in this bar as Bellamy had in her apartment building. It was kind of ironic.

He lingered at the counter, centering himself. The more time he spent with Clarke, the less he understood her. It was already making everything more difficult than it needed to be. She was unpredictable, swinging wildly between hating his guts and defending his dignity. He was confused and a little freaked out. If they didn’t figure this out, they were absolutely fucked.

One of the older men tipped a shot glass toward Bellamy, giving him a closed mouth smile as he downed the clear liquid. The dark scruff on his cheeks and the tired look sent an odd feeling of discomfort rolling through him. He looked staggeringly like Raven’s deadbeat step-dad. It wasn’t of course. Paxton had been dead a long time, but seeing someone who resembled him so closely, left a lump in his throat.

He pushed off the counter, scrubbing a hand over his face, the shot he ordered only seconds before seemed highly unappealing all of a sudden. They needed to get their shit together, he couldn’t subject everyone he loved to any more pain. Not after everything they’d been through, all of them had seen enough hell, he didn’t need to add to it.

“We need to lay down some ground rules,” he said firmly, sliding into the booth across from Clarke.

She eyed the pitcher wearily but poured a glass for herself all the same. It didn’t seem like she had much fight left in her as she took a sip, wincing at how cheap and bitter it was. 

“I agree. Now that Ontari is on our tails we have to be careful.”

Suppressing the urge to snark at her about their meeting, he grabbed a pen and an old napkin from a nearby table.

“Rule 1. Don’t piss off Ontari,” he scribbled on the napkin, trying his best to keep his handwriting legible.

“Rule 2: Nobody knows about the plan other than us. I know we’re going to see your family next weekend and you probably don’t want to lie to them, but we can’t implicate anyone else in this,” she added, seeming almost apologetic about the situation.

“I agree, it’s less complicated if nobody knows.”

“Rule 3: You have to let me call you baby. It’s kind of my thing and my family knows it.”

Clarke’s cheeks reddened slightly but she nodded, pointing to the napkin for him to write it down.

“Rule 4: No questions about my family,” she said firmly, keeping her eyes fixed on her glass as she spoke.

Her expression and tone made him want to press further into it, probe into why she was so closed off. But her body language was enough to tell him that it was dangerous territory, something he should probably leave alone.

“Rule 5: No infidelity. At least not right now, it’s too risky with the feds on our backs. If one of us hooks up with someone and they spill the beans, we’re totally screwed,” he added, suppressing the urge to delve into Clarke’s past. This rule was annoying, to say the least, but there was no way to get around it. He’d been single for the past year, a few more months of this wouldn’t kill him.

“Agreed, it’s exactly the kind of misstep Ontari is looking for.” 

They went back and forth like this, adding rules. Some went more smoothly than others, with the occasional argument over a stipulation. By the end, they had a list that was almost three napkins long, full of a minefield of things that should and should not do.

“Hopefully meeting your family goes better than our meeting with Ontari,” Clarke sighed, chugging the rest of her beer as she leaned against the back of the booth.

“It’s a toss-up as far as my sister is concerned, but this is a good start,” he agreed, pouring the last of the pitcher into both their glasses.

“Here’s to not going to jail, Blake,” she said, holding up her glass to clink against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eppp!! Okay the set-up part is done and we're going to get into the meat of the fic which I'm crazy excited about. Hopefully you guys like where it's going and enjoyed this chapter. I'm having a lot of fun writing this! 
> 
> I'm kind of at a crossroads with this fic and as the readers I value all y'alls opinions on it so I'd love to hear from you on what you think. I'm trying to decide if this is going to be a slow burn with a lot of turmoil or if I should delve into making this more of a smutty fuckbuddy hate sex turned soft. If you have any thoughts toward which one you think would be more interesting or which one you're more drawn to, I would love to know, I have really fun ideas planned for either direction but I love both routes so much that I'm not sure which one I want to pick. 
> 
> Take care, hope y'all enjoy the premiere this week and that you're all staying safe and healthy! Thank you so much for all your kind words and feedback so far, I really do appreciate your thoughts and I'm so grateful that people take the time to engage! Much love friends :)


	4. Road Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black Lives Matter, Wash your hands and I love y'all. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one.

* * *

There’s a common misconception that babies are born knowing how to swim. This isn’t necessarily true. Babies aren’t born with the innate ability to swim, but rather with the instinct to not drown. It’s a means of survival, a way to keep their bodies moving and their lungs breathing, even if it’s just for a few seconds longer. It was the embodiment of human resilience, a representation of how desperately the human body wants to keep you alive.

Newborns, in particular, are miraculous, they recover faster, fight harder, survive conditions that grown adults couldn’t, all for the chance at life. They don’t know what they’re doing, they have no perception of what they’re fighting for, and yet, they always fight. It was why Clarke had chosen her specialty, why she spent the better part of her life with her face in a book, and her hands in cold, latex gloves.

It was truly ironic that after dedicating her life to helping babies fight for the chance at life, she was fighting for the chance to keep hers. Not literally, of course, she could still breathe, walk, her heart was still beating, and all of those mechanisms would continue if she got deported. But medicine was the only thing she’d ever loved, her life’s great romance. Like a baby trapped underwater, she was trying not to drown, trying not to lose the thing she loved most in the world.

This plan wasn’t logical, and it definitely wasn’t smart, but it was the only hope she had.

There was a moment, right after Bellamy had dropped her off, after the dirty sticky bar and the world’s most frustrating immigration interview, where she had felt like she was drowning. She hadn’t experienced something like it before, a tightness in her chest, like someone was sitting on her, like she would never be able to get the correct amount of air.

Panic.

Pure, unadulterated panic.

Her entire future was riding on her ability to be pretend married to a person she barely knew, and so far she was failing miserably.

She wasn’t sure what it was about Bellamy that made her act so irrational, that made her feel both exhilarated and very freaked out.

This weekend would be their defining moment, if they couldn’t convince his family that this was real, it was game over. She might as well pack up her entire apartment along with this suitcase, it would save her time in the long run. The fact of the matter was that, this was much more likely to go badly than go well.

Both her and Bellamy were high achievers, the kind of people who picked up on things quickly. But for some reason, neither of them could get the hang of fake dating.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

Zipping her suitcase shut, Clarke examined herself in the mirror, turning to the side, twisting to see how she looked from the back. She didn’t really look like herself, but then again, that was kind of the point.

In preparation for this trip, she’d made quite the dent in her credit card bill ordering hiking clothes, pre-worn jeans, casual sundress, making a point to avoid anything that could be read as pretentious. She felt like she’d done a pretty good job, this outfit, in particular, was a lot more flattering than the black slacks and formal blouses she usually wore.

With one final once over, she took a deep breath, collected her things, and stepped outside, the humid morning air settling heavily over her skin.

“There you are baby, I was getting worried,” Bellamy called, jumping out of a beat-up bottle green Ford Expedition to greet her.

He looked good, bright red shirt emphasizing his tan, his smile wide and warm as he approached. Despite knowing that it was all a show, her chest still fluttered with excitement at the way he was looking at her. Without hesitation, he wrapped Clarke in a tight hug, lifting her just slightly off the ground, holding her against his chest, like he had missed her immeasurably in the time since they’d been apart.

It took her a beat before she reciprocated, sliding her hands up his shoulders to settle around his neck.

“I think we should keep this up whenever we’re in public, you never know whose watching,” he whispered into her ear as he pulled away, grabbing her suitcase in a fluid motion.

She tried to keep her face neutral as she watched him walk casually toward the SUV, trying to shake the tinge on her skin from his touch.

He called her baby, and her body liked it far more than she cared to admit.

So much so, that she wanted him to call her that again.

***

Clarke dug through a bag of Sour Patch Kids, picking out the red ones for herself and the orange ones for Bellamy. Without even bothering to look up, she held out a few to him, continuing her search for the flavors they liked.

“Uh, thanks,” he mumbled taking a few from her. He wasn’t sure exactly how she knew which ones he preferred, maybe it was a product of them working together so closely? Or maybe she knew him better than he thought. Whatever the reason, the gesture sent a jolt of something warm through his body, a feeling that he would rather not address, especially regarding Clarke.

If she noticed his internal dilemma, she didn’t acknowledge it, still determinedly digging through the bag of candy, chewing on her bottom lip. 

“Okay…let me see if I got it this time, Octavia is your sister, she’s married to Lincoln, who was in your unit in the army and she has a four-year-old daughter named…”

“Sophie.”

“Right, Sophie. Sophie is also your Goddaughter. Kane is your army captain? He’s been a father figure for you, and he doesn’t have kids of his own.”

“Yes, exactly. I know it’s kind of complicated, but I promise it’ll be easier in person.”

“Harper and Monty are married and were in your unit, they also have a son, Jordan. You are also Jordan’s Godfather because apparently, you’re everyone’s Godfather. Miller and Murphy are your childhood best friends, Murphy was in the army with you, but Miller is an accountant,” she rattled on, finally folding up the bag of candy and throwing it into the backseat. 

“You’ve got it down. I think we can chill on the studying for a while…” he assured, pulling his eyes away from the road to give her a nod of encouragement.

“Sorry…I’m just nervous. I don’t make a great first impression and Murphy already doesn’t like me,” she sighed, sagging back against the sticky leather car seat.

Bellamy was silent for a beat, she wasn’t wrong on either front. Murphy was still pissed about all the alleged lying and he didn’t seem to be too trusting of their whole narrative. In fact, he’d spent the past few nights coming up with conspiracy theories about why Bellamy would pretend to be dating Clarke. It was a little too close to the truth for his comfort, even if he never actually managed to uncover the lie.

“Murphy hates everyone so I wouldn’t exactly take him not liking you personally. But you’re not wrong about him being suspicious,” Bellamy admitted, running a hand through his hair as he pulled into a gas station. It didn’t really make sense for him to lie about it to Clarke, the more upfront he was, the more they could get in front of this. “He keeps asking me questions like he’s trying to trip me up.”

“Do you think we’ll be able to make him come around?” 

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I think we’re going to have to lay it on really thick. Ideally, we should have him on our side before we get to Hilton Head. My sister is going to be enough of a problem, we don’t need Murphy adding to it.”

Clarke swallowed heavily, letting her mind wander through what exactly laying it on thick would mean in this context.

“Should we practice kissing?” she blurted out, cheeks reddening as she realized what she said.

“Umm…”

“I—uhh—just mean that it would probably look awkward if we kissed for the first time in front of Murphy or your family.”

Bellamy chuckled awkwardly, running a hand through his hair again before swiftly sliding out of the car, leaving her to stew with the embarrassment of what she’d just done.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

Why would she suggest something like that?

She pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead, trying to gather her thoughts, figure out a way to talk herself out of this. There were a million ways she could’ve gone about that and she somehow managed to pick the most awkward one.

Things were just starting to be less weird between them, it was a delicate balance, one that she had almost surely stepped all over.

Before she could freak out any more through, the passenger side door opened and suddenly, Bellamy was very very close to her.

From this angle, his curls hung loosely away from his forehead, framing his face. Clarke always thought he was handsome, but up close, it was kind of like looking at the sun. He edged closer, keeping his arm propped on the headrest, almost like he was daring her to stop him, daring her to backtrack her suggestion.

She didn’t.

Instead, she bit her lip, drawing it between her teeth and releasing it slowly. His eyes tracked her movement, dark, half-lidded, so alluring that she couldn’t possibly look away.

The air between them was impossibly thick, loaded with the promise of a kiss, a kiss that felt a lot more real than fake.

He was so close now that their noses brushed together, the whisper of his breath tickling her cheeks.

She wanted him to kiss her, more than she cared to admit. Was this something she always wanted? Had he ever looked at her like this before?

Probably, not. This was all for show.

That was the point. Her brain needed to understand that, needed to come to terms with the fact that everything he was doing was to further their plan.

But still, she let her eyes flutter close, let her chin tilt up a fraction of an inch. Her lips were tingling, anticipating the soft press of his.

And then, he pecked a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth, brushing the edge of her lips but not quite meeting them.

“Patience is a virtue baby,” he whispered, letting his lips bump against the shell of her ear, sending goosebumps from her neck to the base of her spine.

Unbelievable.

She wanted to snap at him to stop calling her baby, but of course, that was part of their agreement—and she didn’t actually mind.

Fuck, he was totally on to her. 

She couldn’t let him win.

Two could play at this game.

Checking over her shoulder to make sure he was still at the gas pump, she made quick work of unbuttoning her breezy linen blouse. It left her in no more than a thin, lace camisole and a merlot colored bra that she knew was visible through the white fabric. Flipping down the mirror, she let her hair loose from her low bun, her curls tumbling around her shoulders.

This definitely wasn’t subtle, but it didn’t need to be.

They’d done this before, years ago, toeing the line. It was a little less obvious back then, more lingering stares and loaded banter. They never explored it though, never pushed it into something physical and eventually, it turned sour on its own, became more of a rivalry than anything else.

Sometimes she missed those days, missed how she would wear lipstick before surgery hoping she would catch him looking at her lips.

That’s what made this whole situation so dangerous. They had been here, closer to something resembling friends, maybe even something more…and it led them to hate each other so fiercely that everyone around them would shudder at the thought of being in the same room.

Clarke didn’t really consider Bellamy to be her adversary anymore and they were quickly falling back into their old patterns. Logically she knew she should put a stop to this, but all she could think about was the imprint of his lips on the corner of her mouth.

She adjusted her curls as he opened the door, trying to look casual but knowing that he would see right through the pretenses of what she was doing.

Sure enough, his eyes drifted straight to her cleavage when he slid back into the car, lingering for a beat before meeting her stare. His eyes were somehow even darker than they were before, and he shifted his legs apart just enough that she knew it worked.

Without breaking their eye contact, he propped his hand on her headrest. And then, he winked at her, a boyish, playful wink and tilted his head to see the road behind them, using it as a reference point while backing out of the gas pump.

It was a wholly unnecessary movement, done entirely for show, but she couldn’t help the slow burn at the bottom of her stomach.

She wanted him, so badly that if she didn’t get a hold of herself, she wouldn’t be able to handle this for much longer.

“Did you—ahem, listen to that podcast about cardiac valves? I’ve been meaning to for a while,” she deflected, tearing her eyes away from his so she could browse through her phone, selecting the most boring and informative podcast she could find.

It did nothing to dull the ache between her thighs, but at least it gave her something to focus on other than the sharp curve of Bellamy’s jaw or the way his hands cupped the steering wheel.

***

Bellamy picked at the last of his pancake, watching as Clarke absently sucked a spot of syrup off the corner of her thumb. She wasn’t even looking at him, too focused on her food, as always, she ate like it was the first thing she’d seen in months. He couldn’t help but stare, following the way her tongue darted out, running over her lip just once before she drew it back in.

He was officially losing his mind.

There was nothing sexual about what she was doing right now, especially in comparison to the show she put on at the gas station. It took all his willpower to keep his eyes on the road, to not flick his gaze over to her.

She knew what she was doing to him, knew that she had some of the best tits he’d ever seen and that she looked impossibly beautiful with her hair down like that. She knew it would drive him crazy. And the worst part of it was that it had completely worked. Even now, there was still a knot at the bottom of his stomach, a hyper-awareness of every move she made.

He deserved it after the near kiss, but he couldn’t help himself, he loved watching her squirm, loved knowing that no matter what, that chemistry was still there.

He’d always thought that Clarke was attractive, knew that there was a spark between them. Even when they were at their worst, arguing within an inch of their lives, there was an underlying heat. He always wondered what would’ve happened if he’d just given in, surged forward and kissed her, funneled all his frustration toward her into it.

But he never did.

It was too risky, especially with their jobs, their power dynamic.

Now though, nothing was holding them back. As far as the world was concerned, they were engaged, in fact, he was practically expected to have his hands all over her.

It would be so easy to lean across the table right now, to kiss the syrup off the corner of her lips, cup her jaw, hold her close.

Fuck.

He was getting carried away.

Even if they were engaged, nothing between them had changed. This was all still a game, she was messing with his head, trying to get under his skin.

“So, uh, Murphy and Emori should be here soon,” Bellamy said, finally breaking the silence between them. His voice sounded gravelly, even to his own ears…there was no way that Clarke hadn’t noticed.

“What’s the plan once we all meet up?” she asked, smirking as she took a long sip of her water.

When the fuck did, he lose the upper hand?

He’d been totally in control when he’d tried to kiss her, but that didn’t really feel like the case anymore. She was making him feel things—things he hadn’t felt in a very long time. This wasn’t going to work, he needed to get a handle on the situation, especially before Murphy got here.

“We pretty much have the day to explore Charleston, it’s where we grew up. Spend the night in a hotel and leave for the island by morning.”

“What—”

“It’s a Best Western, don’t get your hopes up princess, we’re residents.”

“That’s not what I was going to ask,” she huffed, crossing her arms and leaning back against the sticky, cracked booth. This, of course, pushed her boobs together, once again forcing him to exercise a herculean amount of will power to keep the conversation on track.

“Sure it wasn’t,” he smirked, pushing himself out of the booth. After a momentary stretch, he rounded the table, squeezing in beside her.

Before she could protest, he tilted his head toward the window, where Murphy and his girlfriend could be seen jumping out of a chipped red pick up truck.

“Put on your wifey pants baby, it’s our time to shine,” he whispered, nudging his nose against her hairline, tucking her underneath his arm and drawing him into his side just as the bell above the door chimed and Murphy appeared.

“I would rather be deported than have you call me wifey ever again,” she muttered, digging her elbow lightly into his ribs in response to their closeness.

***

Emori as it turned out, was much cooler than Clarke expected. They’d met a handful of times, only for a few brief moments in the ER pit but they’d never really talked.

Clarke knew her own reputation among nurses, knew that Anya put a blue dot beside her name on the nurses' chart to indicate she was more than a little difficult to deal with. She never tried to be difficult on purpose, but her methods were a little stricter than most of the other attendings and it didn’t exactly leave her with many friends.

Considering her notoriety and Murphy’s obvious suspicion, she was expecting Emori to be unfriendly. Frankly, she wouldn’t have blamed her if she had been. But she was nothing but nice as they made their way through the colorful, historic streets of Charleston.

“Have you ever been to the south before?” Emori asked, adjusting her stride so that they were walking side by side. Bellamy and Murphy were a few paces ahead, heads bent over a phone, murmuring back and forth between themselves.

“Nope, I’m not American so I haven’t traveled in the country much,” she shrugged, following Bellamy’s advice about sticking as close to the truth as possible. “I’ve never left the east coast.”

“Oh yeah, John mentioned you were from Australia. It’s easy to forget though since you don’t have an accent or anything.”

“I’ve heard that I cover it up well,” she smirked, allowing her gaze to drift toward the wide expanse of Bellamy’s back, thinking back to their first conversation in her office. It felt like a lifetime had passed since then, and yet, she still hadn’t told him much about herself.

Sometimes it was exhausting to hold everything in so tightly, to keep all her emotions locked up, to have to handle everything by herself. Even if it was mostly fake, it felt good to have someone in her corner, someone to share her stress with. But she couldn’t get too comfortable. Bellamy wasn’t actually her husband, hell, he wasn’t really even her friend. She needed to maintain her boundaries, now more than ever.

“I don’t know why you would want to get rid of it, it’s so cool.”

“Are you from around here too?” Clarke deflected, not really wanting to get into the accent thing all over again.

“Oh no, not even close. I’m from North Dakota, I grew up on a reservation. It was a totally different world than this…although my childhood wasn’t too different from Bellamy and John’s when you think about it, I guess.”

“I’m going to be totally honest with you. I have absolutely no clue where North Dakota is,” she admitted, giving Emori a sheepish smile.

Emori let out a deep laugh in return, delving into a few stories about her childhood and her culture. It was fascinating, unlike any community or place Clarke had ever been to. It was a good ice breaker, by the time they reached their destination, they were laughing together, making jokes about their respective boyfriend’s driving.

“This is it,” Murphy announced, swinging an arm over Bellamy’s shoulder as they both stood in front of a sun-faded building on the corner of the pier.

“What is ‘it’ exactly?” Emori asked, rolling her eyes fondly at her boyfriend as she gestured to the stretch of shacks and tourists in front of them.

The pier was packed with people, overlooking a marshy stretch of saltwater that filled the air with the familiar sting of the beach. There were older men in straw hats with soft strumming guitars, a small gospel group singing worship songs and passing out pamphlets, children in bathing suits running through a fountain, little boys with burlap totes selling roses weaved from palm leaves.

It was picturesque in a way that was more comfortable than stunning, slow, and sweet, a true southern experience.

“This is the ice cream shop we worked at in high school,” Bellamy explained, pointing to the colorful little stand a few feet to their right.

“Oh, **the** ice cream stand. The one where John got attacked by pigeons.”

“This place was a cornerstone of my childhood, but yeah, let’s make it about pigeons…” Murphy groaned, running his hand through his hair before leading Emori toward the small stand.

“It’s beautiful here,” Clarke said, cutting the silence between her and Bellamy now that it was just the two of them.

“There’s a lot more to it than meets the eye, but it’s home,” he shrugged, holding his hand out to her, kissing their joint knuckles gently before joining Murphy and Emori in front of the stall.

They were both already licking massive cones, laughing to themselves about pigeons hopping around on the pier.

Bellamy ordered for them both, opting for a shared dish, just to drive home their couple act. He’d done this frequently in high school, used the excuse of sharing ice cream to tuck a girl under his arm, to kiss a smudge of ice cream off the corner of their mouth.

He found Clarke leaning over the edge of the pier staring into the murky water, seemingly lost in thought. She got like this sometimes at work, so overly focused that she barely registered the world around her. He often wondered how she managed to do it, how she blocked out everyone around her. It was a trait he wished he had himself, he often looked for external recognition, longed for people to like him, to accept him. Clarke on the other hand never seemed to care about what other people thought about her, she just did what she wanted to do.

Wordlessly, he held the bowl out between them, siding up to her until their shoulders were pressed together. Her arm was soft against his, her bare skin sticking to his just a little.

“Emori is great,” she said after a long stretch of silence, keeping her eyes on the horizon as she sucked on her spoon.

“Yeah she’s pretty much the best thing that’s ever happened to Murphy,” Bellamy agreed, bumping his spoon against hers, fighting for the same piece of Oreo in the dish.

They battled for it for a second, plastic clicking softly as their spoons bumped. In the end, he let her have it. She put up a good fight, and he could see Murphy looking at them from the corner of his eye.

“I know he’s kind of rough around the edges, but he’s the closest thing I’ve got to a brother. He can be a serious tool, but we’ve got to get him to like you.”

“I think I’m off to a good start with Emori. It feels like we could maybe be friends.”

“If she’s on our side and we put on a good enough show, it shouldn’t be too much of an issue,” he agreed, holding up a spoon of ice cream to Clarke.

She stared at it, flipping her eyes between the ice cream and him, almost like she didn’t know what to do with it.

“It’s just ice cream, it won’t bite,” he murmured, leaning down so that his lips were once again brushing against her ear.

To his surprise, she tilted her chin up just enough to knock his lips against her jaw, putting her hand over his to help guide the spoon into her mouth.

It was bold and his lips were so close to her neck that he could practically taste the salt on her skin. It was so tempting, she was so close, all he would have to do is lean forward just a little. He was still on edge from earlier, the sight of her in her tight white tank top still seared into the backs of his eyelids.

Against his better judgment, he pressed a gentle kiss to her pulse point, mouthing at her neck softly, not enough to leave a mark but enough for her to feel the outline of his teeth for at least a few hours.

Clarke exhaled sharply at his movement, his spoon still between her lips. The soft groan she let out was enough to reignite the heat at the base of his spine. Feeling daring, he continued his path up the column of her neck, leaving wet hot kisses at the slowest pace he could manage. Finally, he kissed her jaw and nipped lightly at her earlobe before he pulled away.

When he finally drew back far enough to meet her eyes, they were half hooded, dark. Without looking away, she drew the spoon from between her lips, making a show of licking it generously before dipping it back into their shared dish of ice cream.

“I think it’s your turn, baby,” she whispered, voice a little hoarse as she offered a bite of soft serve back to him.

And, well. He was fucked, she’d turned his game back on him again and he totally wanted to play along.

But by the time he fully processed her suggestion, Clarke took the spoon and smacked him on the nose, leaving a cold, wet trail of ice cream to drip down his face.

It was gentle, more a tease than an attack, but it caught him off guard.

“Oh, you’re _so_ going to pay for that,” he said, lunging forward and catching her in his arms, wrestling their shared ice cream away from her to get in his own retaliatory flick onto her face.

She turned in his grasp, half struggling to wiggle away and half pushing her body against his. The idea that this was a show for the benefit of Murphy completely slipped his mind as they laughed, tugging the ice cream back and forth.

For a fraction of a second, he was having the time of his life, with a pretty girl in his arms and nothing to do except eat ice cream.

But of course, that wasn’t their reality.

“As disgustingly cute as this all is, we have a dinner reservation in fifteen minutes,” Murphy interrupted, smirking slightly as he took in their ice cream covered faces.

“Whose idea was it to eat ice cream right before dinner?” Emori asked, looking between her boyfriend and Bellamy with a quirked eyebrow. 

“Probably Bellamy, nobody gets between this guy and his sugar,” Clarke laughed, not even giving the boys a chance to respond. “He literally keeps those pixie stick things everywhere.”

To emphasize her point, she reached into the back pocket of Bellamy’s jeans, pulling out a thin, bright blue tube full of sugar.

For what it was worth, Bellamy didn’t look surprised by her answer, but Murphy raised an eyebrow at her, clearly impressed.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to win him over after all.

***

Dinner was objectively amazing—the boys had picked out a southern restaurant, with a menu chock full of warm buttered biscuits, salty green beans, creamy grits, and some of the most decadent food Clarke had eaten in her entire life.

This made for a great meal, but it also made it a feat in itself to get up from the table and walk back to their cars.

“We should stop at a grocery store on the way and get some bottled water,” she suggested to Bellamy, grateful for once that he was basically holding her up as they walked.

“You always manage to stay on brand,” he sighed, smiling down at her—the way his eyes softened in the corners looked almost fond, and it ignited something in her that she immediately wanted to push down. “There’s one on the way.”

They walked the rest of the way back to their cars in silence, Bellamy arm still wrapped firmly around her waist, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly against her rib cage.

“Do you guys need anything from the store? We’re going to stop on the way,” she asked Emori, slipping out of Bellamy’s grip while he and Murphy compared booking information for the hotel.

“Could you—uh, John always forgets to pack condoms. Would you mind picking us up a pack?” Emori asked, throwing Clarke off with the bluntness of the request.

This was a very close group of friends; she would need to get used to things like this.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got you covered,” Bellamy smirked, leaning into his car and pulling out a box of condoms. “If it wasn’t for me Murph would have like 30 kids by now, I swear.”

“Fuck you, Blake,” Murphy yelled back, but he caught the condoms and slipped them into his back pocket all the same.

Clarke watched the exchange silently, what was Bellamy doing with a pack of condoms? Why did he have them so readily available? Did he buy those for Murphy, or were they for her, in case they—

For the third time that day, she felt her body heat, her mind filling with thoughts of her and Bellamy. She’d been on edge all day, aware of his every move, of his proximity to her.

Did he feel the same way? Would it be so bad if they just—gave into it? It had been so long since she’d been with someone, so long since someone made her feel like this. At the rate they were going, she would need to become very well acquainted with her index and pointer fingers…unless of course, he was willing to help out.

They could keep it strictly physical; it was a base human instinct after all. The whole thing was practically medical.

“You ready to go?” he asked, causing her to jump in surprise, so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t even noticed that Murphy and Emori were already gone.

“Why did you have condoms? Were those for…” she asked, despite knowing that she should probably just drop it. If she didn’t ask, she would never be able to get it out of her head.

“What do you want them to be for?” he replied, sitting back against the trunk of the car, watching her, his eyes locked with hers.

“I, uh, nothing. I was just wondering if you were planning on hooking up with someone else,” she blurted out, letting her insecurity seep through.

Bellamy furrowed his brow, finally breaking eye contact with her to look at his shoes. It was hard to read what he was thinking, whether he was mad he got caught or if he was genuinely surprised by her accusation.

A flicker of anger flashed at the back of her neck, leaving an ugly knot of jealousy to replace the giddiness she’d felt only moments before. She’d always known that Bellamy got a lot of attention, that other women in the hospital stared when he walked down the halls, but the possibility of it now was not something she wanted to think about.

“Rule three, remember? We’re stuck with each other,” he said, voice clipped, pushing off from the back of the car and moving back to the driver’s seat without another word.

His words stung, even if she didn’t want them to. It felt like they were getting somewhere, that maybe this could’ve been almost bearable. For the most part, she’d really enjoyed herself today, had hoped this could be the start of something different.

But clearly, nothing had really changed between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all!! First and foremost, THANK YOU all for your wonderful feedback and suggestions, it really helped me decide where I wanted this story to go. So many new friends in the comments and I am so happy to have gotten to chat with all of you, I appreciate your feedback always and your thoughts really do mean a lot to me. I take suggestions and critique from you guys to heart and I always want to be adapting and growing as a writer. I'd love to hear what you guys think!! Things are only going to get more fun from here, so buckle in!! I promise I won't be teasing you guys for much longer ;) 
> 
> The current state of the world (and some general life stuff, I'm in a long-distance relationship) have been weighing down on me a lot and it's been hard to find inspiration to write. I'm sorry it's taken a while to get this one out, but I really hope you guys enjoy it. It's been a bright spot for me amid all this. I hope you all are doing well, staying safe, and finding safe spaces to help you navigate this often scary world we all live in. Much love to each and every one of you, you are all in my thoughts and if you need a listening ear I'm always here or on Tumblr.


	5. Southern Vibes and Family Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some sexy times in this one, in case you want to skip, it starts after the first set of asterisks!!! 
> 
> HUGE thanks and lots of love to my dear friend Elora_Lane for all her help bouncing ideas and editing on this one. Nothing beats smut writing tips from the queen of steam herself.

Bellamy tipped his head forward, allowing the warm spray of the shower to soothe the ache between his shoulders. It was hard to fully relax when he could see a thin line of grime between the tiles, but he tried to ignore it.

This hotel was shit.

The bathroom was outdated and grimy, the carpets were musty, and they could hear the occasional siren through the window.

Not exactly the Ritz.

He could handle it, he’d definitely seen worse during his childhood, but Clarke didn’t seem thrilled about the whole thing. She’d wrinkled her nose at the paisley bedspread, pinching it between two fingers as she ripped it off.

Based on the clinical smell, she’d also disinfected the bathroom before she’d used it.

He wasn’t exactly complaining about that one, the tub was probably a fungal infection waiting to happen.

This wouldn’t have been his first choice either. Sure, they didn’t make great money as residents, but they made enough to stay in the historical district.

Not the Four Seasons or anything--just a Mariott, or even a Holiday Inn Express. 

But he’d let Murphy book the hotel and—he knew why he’d chosen this place. 

Murphy’s mom still lived a few blocks from here, in the neighborhood where they’d all grown up. Their chipped yellow house was next door to Raven’s and across the street from his. She was one of the last people left on their block, refusing to leave the street that most people considered a lost cause. It wasn’t a dangerous place, but it was rough around the edges. They’d grown up thinking this hotel was fancy, occasionally lingering around in the lobby until someone chased them out. It was surreal and a little depressing to think about how gross it was in reality, how all their childhood fantasies were entirely off base.

Murphy’s dad, like Bellamy’s mom, had been a great person at his core, just not lucky when it came to money. When they were really young, before Bellamy’s mom died, they would all meet up in Murphy’s backyard. It was nothing special, just hot summer days, a rickety picnic table, and cold, sweet, sticky watermelon. Those were simpler times, before Bellamy’s mom got sick, before Murphy’s dad got shot, and his mom was still beautiful and bright.

That was the sad part about Mrs. Murphy, that she wasn’t always a caustic alcoholic.

She used to be a lot like Murphy, funny, and incredibly bright. She would play old Joni Mitchell songs on the guitar, her voice raspy and clear, the kind that hit you deep in your heart. But after everything that happened with her husband, her light flickered out. She started spending time with Raven’s disgusting step-father. After that, she barely acknowledged Murphy, blamed him for his dad’s death, and spent her days with the bottle.

But terrible as she was, she was still Murphy’s mom, and he had always held onto the hope that she would change, that the person she used to be was still in there.

That was why they were here, why he was standing on his tiptoes to keep his feet from touching the grimy bathroom floor, Murphy was hoping to run into her.

It was unlikely.

But that was probably his thought, that somehow they would see her on their way to brunch and he could introduce her to Emori.

It was going to be awkward, but he was going to have to address this. Murphy was going to get hurt either way, but if handled correctly, maybe the damage could be kept to a minimum.

Still mulling over memories of his childhood and considering ways to bring up this conversation with his best friend, Bellamy tucked a towel around his waist, using his free hand to shake the water from his hair.

In his rush to escape their very tense room, he’d forgotten his clothes.

And with everything going on with Murphy, he’d also forgotten about the fight he’d gotten into with Clarke only an hour before.

Shit.

Maybe he would get lucky, and she would already be asleep.

He really didn’t want to deal with her since she’d accused him of trying to hook up with other people after he’d explicitly promised not to. Before that, it had felt like they were making headway. He enjoyed their day together, hell, he was starting to kind of enjoy Clarke’s company.

When she wasn’t a huge asshole, she was surprisingly fun.

But any goodwill he had towards her was gone now. It was apparent that she thought he was a horny idiot. Frankly, it was insulting that she thought he was stupid enough to blatantly violate their agreement.

Of course, he wasn’t a lucky man. 

At least not today.

Clarke was sitting on their king-sized bed, tucked under the covers. Her Surface Pro was in her lap, and even from a distance, he could tell she was watching a cardiac procedure of some kind.

He had to give it to her. She was impressively dedicated to her job…it was really no wonder that she was the best.

Half hidden in the closet, he pulled on a pair of worn boxers, staring at his open suitcase, wondering if it was inappropriate to sleep shirtless. On the one hand, he was kind of past caring about what Clarke thought, but on the other, he knew it would probably be a step too far if he made her uncomfortable.

“I gave you an out, you know,” Clarke said quietly, voice muffled from their distance. He couldn’t see her face from where he was standing, but he assumed she looked smug.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, forgoing the shirt in favor of the argument.

“You aren’t stuck here, I gave you an out,” she shrugged, clicking her tablet shut and crossing her arms smugly across her body.

Irritation flared at the back of his neck, flicking heat through his entire body…and not the good kind. He was so annoyed, he barely registered the way Clarke’s boobs were pressed together, how thin her tank top was…

Why did she have to be the absolute fucking worst?

It never ceased to amaze him how his body could like someone so much, and his brain could dislike them with an equal amount of intensity.

“You’re kidding me, right? You’re the one who accused me of being a literal fucking moron who can only think with my dick. Do you think I want to get arrested?” he fumed, it was a struggle to keep his voice down, the walls were thin and they couldn’t risk anyone hearing them bicker.

“I don’t know anything about you, honestly. How was I supposed to know?”

“Because we’re supposed to be in this together? If this is going to work, you’re going to have to trust me.”

“This is never going to work if it’s so torturous for you to be around me!” Clarke almost screamed, catching herself before her voice ticked up into a yell, but it was clear that she was struggling to hold back.

“I never said—”

“You did…”

“Why the fuck do you—” he tried again, wishing she would stop interrupting him. This conversation was infuriating and confusing. He couldn’t make heads or tails of what was going on or why she was so mad at him.

“Why would you have condoms then, Bellamy?” she interrupted again, completely throwing him off guard once again.

She was so pressed about the condoms.

Why?

Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he’d bought them. It was an impulse buy at the CVS on the way to Clarke’s house. He’d stopped in for sunscreen, but it never hurt to be prepared.

The intention wasn’t to sleep with Clarke, although he wouldn’t have been opposed if the opportunity arose. She was still really hot, even if she was currently driving him crazy. 

But he couldn’t tell her that.

She would probably fucking murder him.

Considering the state of this hotel, they were probably on schedule for a murder, but he would rather it not be him.

“Of course, you assume it’s all about you because everything is always about you,” he snapped, running his hands through his wet hair. Any peace he achieved during his shower was long gone by now. “Murphy always forgets to bring condoms. I keep a stash when we travel together because I’d rather not be an uncle right now.”

“Everything is about me? You’re getting something out of this too. Don’t forget that we’re on our way to meet _your_ family for _your_ sister’s birthday.”

“How could I forget? You’re literally holding it over my head right now.”

Clarke sprung up from the bed, her cheeks bright red as she marched over to him. Without her heels on, she was kind of tiny. As much as he knew it wasn’t situationally appropriate, Bellamy wanted to laugh at how far he had to tip his chin to see her.

“I’m just saying that nobody is forcing you to be here. You’re not some benevolent saint who took pity on a little illegal Australian charity case,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. 

“Stop putting words in my mouth, I never said—” he began, but before he could finish, there was a thud against their wall.

The thud was followed by a loud groan and then another groan until it devolved into a string of long, desperate moans.

“Fuck yes, just like that,” Emori’s voice sounded through the wall, cutting through the silence between them.

It was so ridiculous that Bellamy wanted to laugh, but he also was kind of jealous. He wished that could be his reality right now, that he could be having sex instead of dealing with a stupid argument that didn’t make any sense.

The moans continued, growing louder and more desperate. It completely threw them out of their argument. In fact, he couldn’t even remember what he was saying before they were interrupted.

Suddenly all his thoughts were on their interactions from earlier, how Clarke’s skin was warm under his lips, how he felt her pulse jump when he’d ran his teeth over her neck.

It had been a long time since he’d felt like this, a long time since he’d been with anyone.

The fighting already pushed him to the edge, but his anger was quickly dissolving into something different. Against his better judgment, he looked down at Clarke.

For the first time, possibly in her entire life, she seemed at a loss for words. Her eyes flicked up to his, meeting them, holding his gaze. It still felt a little heated, but it was laced with something more substantial, there was a tension there.

“It would probably be pretty convincing if we—” Clarke murmured, swallowing heavily as she inched closer to him. Their fingers brushed together from their proximity, sending a wave of tingles up and down his arm, settling warmly in the center of his chest.

“We showed Murphy exactly how together we are?” He finished, his body already tensing up at the implication. Tentatively, he reached out, teasing her fingers with his own, tracing them across the back of her palm and up her arm.

“He would have to believe us,” she agreed, tilting her chin up to look at him, their eyes still locked. The moment felt heavy like it could tip into something terrible…or something incredible, in a fraction of a second.

“Concrete evidence if I’ve ever heard it.”

Neither of them moved, just stared, the silence between them punctuated by the moans and grunts drifting through the wall.

Clarke’s tongue darted out, running over her lower lip. Their bodies were barely a breath apart, the bare skin of his chest brushing against the thin cotton of her tank top. His hand was cupping her elbow, anchoring them together, the heat of her skin reminding him that he wasn’t imagining this.

“If we do this, it doesn’t change anything. I’m still mad at you,” she murmured, tilting her chin up a fraction of an inch, lips parted slightly. 

“Do what…” he breathed, already bending down, knowing that he didn’t actually need an answer.

Bellamy practically sagged in relief when their lips finally met, years of pent up tension and heated arguing flowing into the moment. It was instinct, the way they moved together, fighting with their mouths instead of with their words.

This kiss wasn’t soft, and it definitely wasn’t gentle. It was rough and dirty and messy, and he couldn’t get enough.

He wanted her so badly that he didn’t know what to do with himself. He needed to touch her, needed her as close as possible.

Clarke moaned, a desperate, needy, moan.

And that was enough to shake him out of the shock of the kiss. Pulling her flush against his body, he walked them backward, his lips never leaving hers.

It wasn’t until she fell back onto the mattress, blonde curls splayed out around her head, that he caught his breath, pulling back just enough to look at her clearly.

“Do you want this?” he asked, needing to hear her say it, needing to hear her tell him how much she wanted him.

“Yes, yes, please, fuck,” she moaned in response, already moving to take off her tank top before he could do anything else.

Just when he’d thought that he’d gotten a handle on the situation, she had to go and do that.

“Holy shit,” was all he could manage before he bent down, wrapping his lips around her nipple, using his free hand to knead her breast.

They were perfect, probably the best tits he’d ever seen in real life, and they were even better up close.

He took his time, raking his teeth gently over her nipple, swirling his tongue around it, reveling in the way her fingers tugged at his hair. She pulled at his scalp carefully, eliciting another moan as he shifted from her nipple to her breast, mouthing at the skin, sucking until he left a mark.

There was a kind of deep satisfaction of seeing the small hickey, something primal that said she was his, even if it was just at this moment.

“Your ego is already huge, you really don’t need to hear this, but your boobs just changed my life,” he chuckled, shifting back up to kiss her again, allowing her to roll him onto his back.

Of course, Clarke was a top.

But the way she was grinding down on his dick, he couldn’t exactly complain.

He was painfully hard, and he wanted her so badly that he couldn’t think straight, not when she was kissing his neck like that.

“Baby, you gonna ride me?” he asked, flexing his fingers against her ass, pushing their hips together even harder.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Clarke smirked, lifting herself off him just enough to slide her panties down her hips.

Somehow she managed to shake them off, her fingers skimming her clit as she climbed back in his lap, her legs bracketing his hips. She was so close, and Bellamy thought he might explode in anticipation, bucking his hips up even though his boxers were still in the way.

“Patience is a virtue, baby,” she whispered into his ear, running her teeth against his earlobe before working her way down his neck.

Fuck, she used his own words against him.

But there was nothing he could do to fight it, all the pent up anger and frustration flowing through him. If he had known this was all it would take to clear the air between them, he would’ve given in years ago.

She kissed her way slowly down his body, stopping ever so often to glance back up at him. She knew what she was doing, knew this was driving him crazy. Clarke was a tease, but he kind of liked this.

She left a mark of her own right on the ridge of his hipbone, her lips teasing the waistband of his boxers while she hooked her thumbs around it and slowly pulled them down.

Taking her time, she worked him in her hand, brushing her thumb along the head, licking a thick strip up the side.

The sight of her between his legs, tongue teasing his cock, breasts pressed against his thighs, it caused his dick to twitch. Fuck, she’d barely touched him, and he was already on the verging of coming.

“Call me baby again,” she asked, licking the tip of his cock as she looked up at him.

“I’ll call you whatever you want, just come here,” he groaned, tipping his head back as she slid back up his body, lining them up inch by inch.

Clarke kissed him again, sinking into it, grinding down on him.

“I hope you didn’t give all the condoms to Murphy, because I need you to fuck me right now.” 

“Shit…” Bellamy yelped, easing her off his body so he could search his suitcase.

Had he given them all the Murphy?

He was convinced he wouldn’t need them.

There had to be at least one.

***

Clarke resisted the urge to press her thumb against her clit, she was aching, desperate. All she could think about was how big Bellamy was, how strong his arms were, how full he was going to make her feel.

If he couldn’t find a condom, she was going to actually explode.

There was so much she wanted to do. It had taken all her willpower to keep herself from blowing him, this might be a one-time thing, and she couldn’t waste it on a blowjob. She wanted to ride him, wanted to give him a show. If this was only going to happen once, he needed to remember it.

“Got it,” he yelled, pumping his fist in the air, holding up the little foil packet like a trophy. He rolled it on without missing a beat, and before she knew it, he was back in bed with her.

Before she lost her nerve, she nudged him onto his back, climbing into his lap again. This time there was nothing between them, nothing except for the nudge of his cock against her entrance. His hands were everywhere, trailing up and down her sides, squeezing her ass, palming at her breasts.

She bounced a few times, teasing him, relishing the way his eyes followed her breasts, the way his gaze grew even darker.

He wanted her too.

This was uncharted territory, and it was terrifying, but it was also a different kind of thrill than she’d ever felt in her life.

She was drunk off of it, and she wanted more.

“Please baby girl, ride me, fuck, please,” he moaned, tapping her ass lightly, his other hand gripping her ribcage gently, his thumb rubbing slow circles on her skin.

His words pushed her over the edge, a soft moan escaping from her lips as she sank down on him. It was deeply satisfying, the heat of him, the stretch.

“You feel so good. So good. Make me yours,” she sighed, not really registering her words as his hips stuttered.

Whatever she said, it was the right thing, because Bellamy let out a moan so loud, that Murphy and Emori definitely heard it. He flipped them over, pinning her hands over her head as he pumped into her.

He held her hands together, managing to grip them both in one hand as he filled her over and over. From this angle, she could see him clearly, and it was overwhelming. He was gorgeous, even more so up close, from this angle. She wanted to study him, to count every single freckle on his cheeks, but the way he was pounding into her, she could barely keep her eyes open.

It was too good, hot and dirty, the slap of his skin meeting hers filling the room.

She clenched around him, trying to hold him in, she wanted this to last, wanted to feel like this forever. Nobody had ever made her feel like this like she was on the verge of losing her mind. It was too much and not enough all at once—and she never wanted him to stop.

His hips stilled for a beat, and he buried his face in her neck as she tried to pull him in deeper, her heels digging desperately into the small of his back.

“Clarke,” he whined, his grip on her wrists loosening just enough that she could wiggle out of it. With her newly free hands, she ran her fingers through his thick curls, tugging on them before sliding down to grip his biceps.

His arms were strong, thick dips of muscle-flexing as she scraped her nails against his skin, losing herself in the feel of him filling her, of his arms around her. She wanted more, wanted him closer.

This was desperate and wanting, not quite rough but still absolutely filthy.

“Come for me, Clarke, c’mon baby. You’re so hot like this, fuck,” Bellamy grunted, kissing her again, thrusting into her, rubbing tight circles on her clit. “You take me so well, I’m not going to last.”

She was close, just on the edge of her orgasm. Their movements were rough, frantic—and with one last, deep press of him into her, she fell over the edge.

“Bellamyyyyy,” she groaned, pulling him flush against her as her orgasm pulsed through her body, her vision blurring out around the edges from the intensity of it. He came with her, face still buried in her neck, hands gripping her hips like she was the only thing keeping him afloat.

His lips brushed her temple, fluttering soft, barely-there kisses to her forehead.

Even though she knew what this was between her and Bellamy, knew this was never going to be anything more than physical, she couldn’t resist the urge to kiss his collarbone.

That was—incredible.

More than incredible, it was mind-blowing.

The moment felt delicate, and she didn’t want to ruin it by talking. Instead, she hugged him even closer, listening to his heartbeat race below her cheek.

Gently, he unwrapped his arms from around her, climbing out of bed.

“Nooo, come back,” she whined, sounding needy even to her own ears, but it felt too good for her to care. She wasn’t ready for this to be over, not yet.

He held up a finger, slipping off the condom and neatly tossing it in the trash before sliding back into bed with her.

In reality, he was only gone for a few seconds, but it was still a relief when he gathered her in his arms, holding her a little more tightly than he had before.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered against her temple, pressing a kiss so soft that she could barely feel it at all on her temple.

He just held her, fingers brushing up and down her sides, his breathing steady, lulling her to sleep.

The implications of this, the aftermath of pushing their boundaries, all could wait until tomorrow. For now, she wanted to enjoy being held by him, to bask in her post-orgasm glow in peace.

***

A sharp vibrating sound shook Bellamy awake. It took him a moment to get his bearings, Clarke was still in his arms, her head tucked into his bicep, her back lined up perfectly with his stomach. He hadn’t slept this well in a long time, even back when he was dating, he’d never had sex like that.

Clarke had caught him off guard last night, the way she kissed him, the way she trusted him, and let him take care of her.

It was more than he ever expected.

The buzzing continued, and as much as he didn’t want to, he eased himself out of bed. He had a strange urge to kiss Clarke’s temple, to tuck the stray piece of hair behind her ear, but he pushed it down. Whatever happened last night, as mind-blowing as it had been, it didn’t change anything.

The buzzing stopped briefly before shifting to something louder, more urgent. By the time he reached his bag, it was shaking.

It was from Murphy. 

Calling him on his fucking work pager.

At 7:43 in the morning.

Not even bothering to read the message, he silenced it, pulling on the first pair of pants and shirt he could find.

The odds that Murphy was already standing in the hallway, waiting for him to check his phone, were pretty good.

Running a hand through his hair, he glanced back at Clarke. She was still fast asleep, curled on her side, curls still falling over her face.

Should he leave a note?

Would she expect him to?

Were they just going to forget that this happened?

His pager buzzed loudly again, and Bellamy suppressed the urge to groan out loud.

So much had happened in the past ten hours and somehow, neither of his problems had been solved.

He flashed back to the night before, he’d promised he would stay, that he wasn’t going anywhere. Even if she didn’t remember, even if they were still mad at each other, it didn’t feel right to just leave her without an explanation.

She could always throw it away.

 _“Needed to help Murph with something,”_ he scribbled, tucking the note on the bedside table beside Clarke’s head. Despite himself, he moved the stray piece of hair behind her ear, watching her for a beat before stepping away.

Hopefully, that would suffice.

With one last look back at Clarke’s sleeping form, he slipped out of the room.

Sure enough, Murphy was slumped against the wall, a Juul propped between his fingers.

“How many times have we talked about you smoking that shit? You’re a doctor, Murph…” Bellamy sighed, taking the Juul and shoving it in his pocket. “And why the hell did you page me? That thing is for work, they can see when we use them.”

Murphy didn’t fight back, just mumbled a half-hearted ‘fuck you’ and tilted his head back against the wall. 

Something was wrong, that much was for sure.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, sliding down the wall until they were sitting side by side, shoulders pressed together. It was the way they’d always comforted each other. Murphy had never been one for hugs, but it was a simple acknowledgment of not being alone. “You book this shitty hotel, call me at the ass crack of dawn on my pager. You’re freaking me out.”

“I went out—snuck out more like, in the middle of the night. Stopped by the liquor store, you know the one…”

“Did you see her?”

“No, I lingered on the corner for almost an hour, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually check.” 

They were in their 30s, military veterans, accomplished doctors, but right now, in this dirty hallway, they might as well have been sitting outside the principal’s office after Murphy set a car on fire at school.

He hadn’t known what to say then, and he didn’t know what to say now. How do you make someone feel better about a parent that abandoned them, that grew to resent them over an accident that wasn’t their fault?

It was impossible.

There was nothing he could say or do to make his friend feel better, all he could do was be there for him. Bellamy might have a lot going on right now, but Murphy did too…and right now, this took priority over his confusing feelings for Clarke.

“We could go right now, to my house,” Murphy said, turning to Bellamy with a hopeful tilt of his eyebrow. “I already told Emori I would be gone for a while. I just need backup.”

Bellamy stayed silent, mulling over Murphy’s words. Murphy had worked so hard to become better, to be more open, this whole thing with his mom would probably dredge up a lot of old feelings. Bellamy knew the feeling well, sometimes, even now, he wondered whether he had ever passed his biological father on the street and not even realized. It was frustrating and it could spiral out of control quickly.

“I understand why you want to do this, trust me. But I can’t just leave Clarke sleeping like—” he began, thinking back to where he’d left her only a few minutes before. He’d been bracing himself for a quick chat in the hallway, not a half baked trek to their old stomping grounds.

“She’s literally going to be your wife, you can snuggle her every day for the rest of your life. We’re only here for one day.”

“It’s just—it’s more,” he scrambled, trying to find a way to rectify this without throwing his and Clarke’s already delicate relationship off balance. “I don’t think you should rush into this. It’s been over a decade. We can look her up when we get to Kane’s, maybe you can arrange to meet with her properly.”

Correcting course was a better option, hopefully, Murphy could be a little reasonable about this.

“It has to be today.”

“I really don’t think that’s smart. Just wait, Kane will—”

“Oh good to know that you still have to run everything by Kane. This has nothing to do with him, or with you. I’m asking for your help as a friend.”

“I’m telling you as a friend that if you rush into this, you’re just going to get hurt.”

“Can you stop judging me and help?! I’m really not asking for much here!”

“Obviously I want to help you Murph, but—” Bellamy tried again, this was definitely the beginning of an argument.

They were interrupted by the door swinging open, a stunned Clarke staring at them both as they sat on the floor in the middle of the hallway.

“I uhh—wasn’t expecting you to be sitting right outside…” she mumbled, nervously smoothing down the skirt of her sundress. “I’m about to meet Emori for breakfast, do you two want to join us or would you rather catch a venereal disease from the carpet?”

Murphy snorted in response, giving Clarke an overly amused smile. “We’ll join you. It’s what Bellamy wants and he’s always right,” he said before going back into his own room.

***

Bellamy tried his best to balance paying attention to Clarke while also trying to get Murphy to speak to him, but as it turned out, that was easier said than done.

He’d done this his entire life, diverted his priorities to his loved ones while pushing aside things that were important to him. Usually, he was fine with it, but it had gotten him in trouble more than once. This thing with Murphy’s mom, it was unexpected and extremely complicated. There was no good outcome to the situation and Bellamy had become the punching bag.

It was understandable, but it still felt like a slap in the face.

He knew Murphy was just lashing out, that he would probably come around with enough time, but the passive aggressiveness and the jabs were starting to grate on him.

Maybe it was the stress of his illicit engagement or the weight of the night he and Clarke had, but whatever it was, he was at his wit’s end.

He was pissed that all this had to fall on the same trip, that this situation with Murphy had forced him out of bed and led him to abandoning Clarke.

It was clear it had upset her, even if she was trying to pretend like it didn’t.

He wasn’t sure why exactly, he’d be bracing himself for her to act like nothing ever happened, to revert back to bitching at him over anything and everything. But she was being oddly quiet, lingering a few feet away from him whenever possible.

Every time he tried to get near her, Murphy somehow managed to be in the way.

Basically, if he didn’t get some space soon, he was going to lose it and it was going to be ugly and make him look like a huge asshole.

“I need a minute,” Bellamy said, hanging back from the group. He half hoped that Clarke wouldn’t hang back, that he would get a few minutes alone to clear his head.

“You guys go ahead, I’m going to make sure he’s okay,” he heard Clarke say as he sagged against a brick wall.

She didn’t say anything, he knew better than to expect any sort of comforting gesture from her. Instead, she just sat beside him, maintaining the silence. They probably looked crazy, curled up against a mural, surrounded by colorful bikes, sitting side by side. If Clarke wasn’t so well dressed, someone probably would have called the police on them for being homeless.

“I know we still don’t really know each other, but—” she began, keeping her gaze forward, her hands wringing nervously in her lap the same way they always did before surgery.

“I don’t know why you keep saying that. We’ve known each other for three and a half years, Clarke. If you really feel like you don’t know me then I don’t really know what to say,” he snapped running a hand through his hair. He knew what he said was harsh and he knew that he was lashing out at Clarke even though she didn’t deserve it, but he was slipping, losing control of his emotions.

He wanted to talk, wanted to figure out what was going on. He was analytical by nature, he liked to dissect things, understand them fully. But he was irritated and exhausted, the situation with Murphy was dredging up old resentments, things that he had thought he would’ve been over by now, but clearly they were still sitting below the surface.

It barely had anything to do with Murphy himself, but rather with the speculation of how different his life would’ve been if he had ever let himself indulge in something selfish.

He messed up so many things because he insisted on trying to make everyone happy and even with all his effort, he usually never managed to fix anything properly anyway.

Maybe he should just stop trying, should just stop feeling things so strongly, just let everyone fuck up their lives and figure out their own shit.

And yet—he knew he would never be able to do that.

Just like always, he would get frustrated like this, let himself calm down for a little while, and move on like nothing happened. Rinse and repeat. 

He’d lost the moment with Clarke, the moment to talk about what happened last night, to unpack years of unresolved tension and hurt feelings. Now they were back to this ‘we don’t even know each other’ bullshit.

There was no way to turn back time, he’d quite literally made his bed and now he had to lie in it.

If she wasn’t pissed at him before, she definitely was now.

***

Clarke flipped her sunglasses over her eyes, pulling her cardigan closer around her body as they stood at the end of the dock.

There was something weird going on today, and she couldn’t figure out exactly what it was.

Everyone just seemed kind of off.

Maybe she was projecting, she couldn’t deny that her feelings had been hurt by Bellamy leaving before she woke up and then again by the way he’d snapped at her.

It might have been delusional, but last night felt different, there was something between them, or at least she had thought there was.

Everything seemed fine until she woke up alone and found him literally hiding from her outside their room. Clearly he just wanted to forget what happened. He weirdly dodging every opportunity they had to be alone and hovering around Murphy.

She couldn’t make heads or tails of what was going on but whatever it was, it left her feeling unsettled and a little hurt.

She was so embarrassed that she wanted to tell him that it was a mistake, that they should go back to normal and forget it ever happened. But she couldn’t bring herself to, even if he was being a dick.

His words stung.

She couldn’t understand why he was so upset with her. It was true, they barely knew each other. Even if they’d technically known one another for years, everything about him was a mystery. Hell, for half of the time they knew each other, she’d thought he was in the Navy instead of the Army.

They were functionally strangers, strangers who’ve had sex, and were now pretending like it never happened.

And if you had asked her last week, she would’ve been completely fine with that. But there was something about him that she just couldn’t shake.

He’d given her a taste of something new and she needed desperately to try it again. The way he’d held her, the way he’d kissed her, the heat behind it, the way he’d called her baby, it was overwhelming. But now he could barely look at her. Sure, he was still playing his part, but it lacked the spark from earlier. His head was clearly somewhere else.

“Are you cold?” he asked, shaking her out of her thoughts as he appeared beside her, his hand settling on her lower back.

Of course, they had to maintain their act. It wouldn’t make sense that she would be mad about him leaving her in bed if they’d been together for years. 

“I’m fine,” Clarke shrugged, refusing to pull her eyes from the ebb and flow of the water. It was soothing, grounding, a welcome change of pace from all the noise in her brain. She couldn’t bring herself to feed into their charade right now, even if their freedom technically depended on it. She was hurt and tired out and she just wanted to curl up in bed and will the memories from last night away.

She could feel his eyes on her, boring into the back of her head, but she held strong, staring forward.

“Clarke—” he began, but before he could finish, the water began to ripple violently and seemingly out of nowhere a sleek, white speedboat cut through the water. It drew to a halt a few feet from the dock, floating slowly toward them.

Aboard, there was a dark-haired girl with angled cheekbones and an older man, handsome, but with a tinge of grey around his temples.

“My boys!” The girl yelled, smiling filling her entire face as she jumped from the boat and threw her arms around Murphy and Bellamy, drawing them into a three-sided hug.

“It’s good to see you Rae,” Bellamy chuckled, lifting her off the ground with one arm.

Raven’s gaze flicked between the two boys, her perfectly groomed eyebrows furrowing as she stared at them.

There was a long pause as the three of them communicated without speaking a single word, leaving Emori and Clarke to introduce themselves awkwardly to the older man.

Marcus Kane was just as impressive as Bellamy had made him seem, tall and charming with a smile that crinkled in the corners. He was stern, but in a friendly way, immediately warming up to them as he lifted their suitcases onto the boat.

“It’s wonderful to meet you both. Those two have never liked anyone enough to bring them around, so you really must be something special,” he grinned, handing them bottles of water.

“We’d like to think so,” Emori said cheekily, gesturing for Clarke to follow her to one of the benches at the side of the boat.

It was nice to have a buddy, Clarke couldn’t imagine how much more awkward this would have been if she was by herself. If Emori knew what was going on with Bellamy, she didn’t show it, instead making pleasant small talk with Marcus.

Tuning out the conversation about deer populations, Clarke chanced a glance over at Bellamy, Raven, and Murphy. According to Bellamy’s notecards, Raven had grown up down the street from them and served as a mechanic in the army. It was clear they knew each other well, that there was a bond there that few others could understand.

Clarke couldn’t help but feel a sting of jealousy over the whole thing.

There was nobody in her life who she could trust like that, someone who knew everything about her, no matter what. Bellamy had them to lean on, even if he couldn’t tell them exactly what was going on, he could depend on them to distract him, to draw him away from their dynamic. She, on the other hand, was completely alone. Sure, she was warming up to Emori, but they weren’t really friends yet, there was potential there, but she wasn’t someone that Clarke could confide in.

“I think we’re ready to hit the road,” Raven exclaimed, shoving Bellamy and Murphy into the boat playfully.

Bellamy stumbled for a second, falling forward just a little before sitting heavily beside Clarke. He threw his arm around her shoulders, laughing at something Marcus said, seemingly over the fact that they were very much still fighting. 

Or at least, he was able to cover up their argument better than she could. 

Clarke kept herself turned away from him, directing her attention toward the water as the engine roared back to life and they glided back into the open ocean. The air was clear here, tinged with the faint hint of salt and weighed by the heat of the afternoon sun. 

As they moved further into the water, tall patches of grass appeared, peppered with regal white birds perched on bars of sand. 

There was life here, stark contrasts of bright green and crystal blues, the water full of glittering fish and the whirr of boats. It had been a long time since she’d been somewhere so purely organic, without the honks of cars or the smell of the city. 

Although oceans apart, this reminded her of home, of afternoons spent on paddleboards and sunkissed bonfires on the beach. 

It was strangely melancholic, especially with everything else going on. It was rare that she got homesick, in fact, it had been so long that she barely considered Australia home at all anymore. But seeing the way Bellamy and Marcus greeted one another, the way that Murphy and Raven shoved each other over an old memory, it made her feel impossibly lonely. 

She found herself longing for people long gone, places that she hadn’t visited since she was a small child. This feeling was something she’d been trying to push down for decades, something she’d very consciously spent her entire life trying to avoid. 

And all it took was three days with Bellamy Blake, to push a lifetime of unresolved feelings back up to the surface. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eppp!!! The first of many smut scenes, I hope y'all like it. I normally have a hard time writing these scenes but this was really really fun to write, I very much enjoyed it and I hope you did too. 
> 
> The story is actually kicking into gear now and I'm excited to take y'all to my hometown of Hilton Head and over to Old House Kane (If you're from the area and get the joke lmk bc that means we're best friends now). There will be some fun subplot in this one and a lot of family drama from this big old found family AND lots of angst. This fic will almost certainly be longer than 10 chapters also...probably closer to 15 tbh. 
> 
> Please feel free to let me know what you think, it brings me immense joy to get to know y'all and hear your thoughts. The response to this so far has been incredible, you guys are truly amazing!! 
> 
> Much much love to you, I hope you're all staying safe and healthy and sane!!


	6. Dear Old Dixie Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this one :)
> 
> P.s 
> 
> The Dixie bridge is a real place, the racist connotations of the term dixie is addressed in context

“Octavia’s seriously not coming downstairs?” Bellamy asked, readjusting on Sophie on his hip so he could fully face Lincoln. 

“She’s—feeling a little sick,” Lincoln shrugged, talking a long sip from his iced tea glass after he spoke, eyes flicking away from Bellamy’s. 

“You not ‘upposed tuh lie, daddy, mommy’s not sick,” Sophie said sternly, unwrapping her arms from Bellamy’s neck so she could frown at her dad. 

Bellamy snorted, bopping the tip of Sophie’s upturned nose. He didn’t really need the confirmation of a five-year-old to let him know his sister was mad at him, Octavia was a lot of things, but forgiving was not one of them. 

Octavia yelled at him on the phone for almost fifteen minutes when he’d broken the news about the engagement. He had hoped that time would be enough to ease the sting, but clearly, that wasn’t the case. It was understandable, they’d always been close, of course, she was hurt that he’d hid a relationship from her for two years. 

Under normal circumstances, Bellamy would’ve just rolled his eyes and waited for her to cool down. But combined with the situation with Murphy, he was starting to feel like the world’s punching bag. 

“She’ll come around, just give her some time. O can never stay mad at you,” Lincoln assured, patting Bellamy on the shoulder as he moved to introduce himself to Clarke. 

The words rang hollow—it was well documented and known that Octavia could hold an impressively long-standing grudge.

But he knew he couldn’t let it get under his skin. If his sister wanted to be mad, there was nothing he could do to stop her. 

The rest of the family had basically swarmed Clarke, introducing themselves one by one, subjecting her to overly tight hugs. She looked highly uncomfortable with the whole thing, her mouth steeled into a perfectly practiced fake smile as she reached out to shake Indra’s hand. 

Considering how she usually reacted to people touching her, it was progress. He needed to give Clarke some space to warm up to everybody. She wasn’t his biggest fan right now, and crowding her wouldn’t help his cause. 

“How’s about we go look for some critters?” Bellamy asked, winking at Sophie as he carried her away from the crowd, past the house, and into the brush of the island. 

They weaved through the tall, lush trees, the dirt kicking up around them as they walked toward the bridge. It was muggy and hot, a perfect evening on the water. 

“Froggies!” Sophie yelled excitedly, pointing toward the water as they neared a cluster of tall grass. Sure enough, nestled in the sand bar was a family of tiny frogs. 

Bellamy gently put her down on the worn wooden bridge, smiling as she peeked her little head through the slats, watching excitedly as the frogs hopped below the deck. 

He had missed this. 

Quiet evenings full of cotton candy pink skies and the faint hum of crickets, the innocent excitement of seeing frogs and June bugs and fireflies. 

Octavia, for all her hot-headedness, had done right by her kid. Sophie was bright and full of life, curious about the world around her. She was innocent and happy, everything a kid should be—and everything that he and O had never had the chance to become. 

***

The tension between them was palatable as they silently unpacked their suitcases into the old wooden drawers. 

To be honest—Bellamy was confused. 

Sure, it was kind of shitty for him to leave her in bed alone. But he’d left a note. He couldn’t figure out why exactly Clarke seemed like she was going to murder him at any second. 

She’d been quiet and rigid throughout dinner, barely saying a word. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t super noticeable from all the excitement and noise. But he caught Octavia looking over at them more than a few times. 

If they kept things up this way, it was going to look suspicious. 

He was at his wit's end. 

Between the passive-aggressive snapping from Murphy, the judgemental side-eye from Octavia, and the silent treatment from Clarke, he was on the verge of losing his mind. 

It was times like this when he really really missed his mom. 

He was in over his head, and it didn’t feel like there was a way out. Bellamy was trapped in a mess of his own creation. 

Tucking the last of his swim trunks into the drawer, he turned to face Clarke. They needed to talk about this. If they kept ignoring each other, this was going to be over before it even started. 

But before he could start his speech, the door swung open. 

“Are you getting ready for bed?!? What the heck is wrong with you? The city’s made ya soft Blake,” Monty yelled, swinging an arm around Miller’s neck to catch him in a headlock. 

“We’re going jumpin,” Miller added, rolling a bottle of Jim Beam across the old wooden floor. 

It very slowly rolled to a stop in front of Clarke, bouncing ridiculously on her fancy sandals. 

“You’re in for the night of a lifetime Clarke. Hope ya packed a suit. If not...well, we don’t judge around these parts,” Harper agreed, popping in over Monty’s shoulder. 

With a backward glance and a small shrug, Clarke picked up the bottle, twisting off the cap and taking a long sip. 

“You only live once, right?” She cheered, tipping the bottle in the air and handing it over the Bellamy. 

The gang at the door roared with whoops and cheers, pumping their fists until Bellamy also took a long swig. 

Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. If they talked, they would just fight. This would be a good distraction, a way for them to get past whatever happened last night. 

“Do I want to know what jumpin is?” She asked, kicking the door closed and pulling off her shirt in one motion. 

Clearly, no matter how angry she was, all pretenses of formality had gone out the door. 

They had to share a room. 

Might as well get comfortable. 

“It’s one of those things that you have to see to understand. But I suggest you drink a little more of that,” Bellamy chuckled, tipping the bottle of liquor toward her. 

They got dressed in silence, backs facing one another. But it was decidedly less awkward. Bellamy wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the excitement that his friends had funneled into the room. Still, whatever it was, he wasn’t complaining. 

The summer air was warm, a little muggy, but the salt cut through it, adding a clean sting as he breathed it in. Fireflies buzzed around them, illuminating the sky. 

It was deeply, painfully nostalgic. 

Seeing all his friends gathered in the bed of a truck, excitement rolling off of them. The sour tinge of Jim Beam, burning his throat on the way down. 

For a brief, beautiful moment, he was 17, and his whole life was ahead of him, and nothing mattered except this night and his favorite people in the world. 

“Awh, they gave you the cheap shit,” Octavia said, tipping her head back in a full-bodied laugh, as she took the Jim Beam and traded it for a Jack Daniels Honey. 

She looked young and happy, and despite everything, Bellamy wrapped her in a tight hug. No matter what, they’d fought tooth and nail to get to where they were, and seeing Octavia smile would always bring a surge of pride to his heart. 

He squeezed his way into the truck bed, leaving enough room for him and Clarke. 

Lincoln flipped on the stereo, an old country song blaring from the speakers as he peeled out of Kane’s long, winding driveway. 

“Let your hair down, Griffin, enjoy the moment,” he whispered, tugging on the end of Clarke’s curl. 

He knew he was pushing it, that it was more likely than not that she was still pissed at him. 

But he was buzzed and happy, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t stressed. 

Clarke faltered, eyes searching his face for a beat before she pulled her curls loose, letting them tumble down her shoulders. 

The wind caught it, whipping it around her face. 

And, for the first time since Bellamy had met her—he saw Clarke relax. 

Her eyes closed, head tipping back as they whipped down an old back road. 

It was deserted except for them, a long, empty stretch of road, only illuminated by fading porch lights. 

Things like this were easy to tuck in the back of your mind when you lived somewhere like Boston. But there was something undeniably magical about a southern summer evening. 

***

Clarke shrugged off her thin tank top, the evening air immediately sticking to her skin. 

They’d drawn to a halt on a small graveled cove, poured out onto the shore, and immediately brought it to life. 

She’d never seen anything like this. Even when she was young, she’d never had friends who crammed so close together you couldn’t tell one person from another. 

It was clear why Bellamy considered this his family, they were so close, so familiar with each other. 

But it was more than that. 

They were warm. Full of love and laughter and traditions, all the things that family was supposed to be. 

It was hard to be an outsider in this, to feel out of place. But she wanted to be a part of it so badly, and right now, she felt included even in a group of strangers. 

“This is totally crazy...” Emori said, linking her arm with Clarke’s and crowding close. 

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Clarke agreed, clinking their beer bottles together. 

Behind them, a fire sprung to life, followed by another eruption of cheers. 

_“Going down a back road, Tennessee highway. One arm on the wheel. Holding my lover, with the other. That sweet soft southern feel,”_ the radio crooned, and Murphy swung in, twirling Emori in a wide circle while the music picked up. 

“C’mon,” Bellamy whispered, coming up behind her and taking her hand. 

His breath was sweet with whiskey, and his palm was warm in hers. 

She wanted to hold on to her anger, to make him understand why it hurt that he’d left her in bed alone...but she couldn’t bring herself to. There wasn’t really anything to say, really. They weren’t really dating, he didn’t owe her anything. Her abandonment issues weren’t his fault. 

The music was bright and lively, and he was smiling in a way she’d never seen before. 

After the shock of loneliness and the sting of rejection, she just wanted to be happy. 

Even if it was only for one night. 

With their hands clasped together and his other hand steady on her waist, they spun in quick circles as the music transitioned into an upbeat violin jig. 

It felt good to be carefree, to let herself dance with a cute boy, and drink cheap liquor. 

The fire lit up Bellamy’s face, highlighting the way his cheeks curved and his eyes glinted. 

She must be fairly drunk, because all she could think of was how good it would feel to kiss him right now. 

They danced till the bottoms of her feet were brown with dirt, and her head was spinning from the liquor. 

“To the loves of my life. May you love long and prosper,” Monty yelled, standing on top of a log. 

“I don’t think that’s quite right, babe,” Harper said gently, coaxing Monty back down. 

“Sounds right to me,” Murphy yelled, dipping Emori so he could kiss her.

Eventually, the music died down, and they settled around the fire. Bellamy kept her close, framing her body with his, leaving enough space for his chin to rest on her shoulder. 

Their cheeks were pressed together, the warmth of his skin radiating into hers. He was broad and strong, and his arms felt safe, Clarke melted into it, leaning back into his chest. 

The whole thing was so painfully good—she could barely focus on the chatter around them. 

“Is this jumpin?” She asked quietly, tilting her chin, so she was close enough for Bellamy to hear. 

“Nope,” he grinned, pecking a quick kiss to her lips. The kind that real couples gave each other, so fast it barely happened at all but an acknowledgment of affection all the same. 

He was a totally different person out here than the one he was back home: all big smiles and full-bodied laughter. 

“We all lived out in the city. Nowhere near as nice as this place. We would drive Miller’s beat-up old pick up truck to this bridge and sneak around out here. It’s technically a gated community. So we would turn off our headlights and drive as slow as possible,” Harper explained to Clarke and Emori, leaning back as she smiled fondly at the group. 

“One time Murphy came here with a girl—and they went skinny dipping, and the Sherif caught them around the ankles and hauled them back to Folly Beach so fast that he couldn’t even put his pants on,” Raven added, ducking as Murphy threw a twig at her. 

Emori shoved him playfully, and the conversation slowly shifted to everyone’s teenage antics. 

Bellamy was quiet through most of it, listening and laughing but not really adding anything. 

She wondered about it all, who he was back then. Hell—she didn’t even know who he was now. But suddenly, she wanted to know. 

The fire burning down till there were just a few glowing embers in the pit, barely enough to heat the chilling air. 

“Feels like Dixie hour,” Octavia said, breaking the comfortable silence as they all stared out at the fire. 

Around them, everyone nodded, standing to follow Octavia further into the brush. 

Before Clarke could ask any questions, Bellamy was shrugging his shirt off too. 

“It’s time for the fun part,” he said, tugging on the belt loops of her shorts in a way that suggested she should take them off. 

She obliged, draining the last of her beer and taking his hand, following him through the dark. 

They weaved through a patch of trees, toward a small area of sand and a gulley of water. 

One by one, they started to climb an old rusty bridge. It was peeling red, loaded with tall beams, hovering over a crystal clear, perfectly still pool of water. 

“You okay?” Bellamy asked, hoisting her up onto the first ledge. 

“Never been better,” she smiled, lacing their hands together. And for the most part—she was serious. Clarke couldn’t remember the last time she’d had this much fun. She felt like a teenager again in the best way, carefree and rowdy. 

Keeping their hands joined, Bellamy led her to the lip of the bridge, guiding her all the way to the edge. 

“This bridge here, it’s special. They say—back when South Carolina was no more than a marsh, this bridge was an old wooden swing bridge. When the city people came and built the city up, they replaced the bridge with this one. It doesn’t lead to anything anymore. It’s more of a symbol of what used to be. They call it the magic of Dixie—-which is like kind of racist—but that aside, it’s supposed to grant you a wish. All you gotta do, is close your eyes and think about something you want really bad,” he explained, lips pressed to her ear, his hand running up and down her arm as he spoke. 

Clarke mulled over his words. 

Genuinely, she didn’t know what to wish for. 

She’d never been very good at this. Her dreams were always concrete, goal-oriented. The only things she’s ever wished for were things that could never possibly come true—those were the kind of wishes that only led to heartbreak. 

This bridge probably wasn’t magic with its vaguely racist Dixie ancestry, but she couldn’t waste the chance. It wasn’t necessarily impossible. 

She wanted the empty feeling in her chest to go away, wanted the looming fear of their immigration interview to be resolved, for her and Bellamy to magically figure out how to communicate with each other. 

As they neared the edge, the water below them echoing with the splashes of the others hitting the surface...she quietly said to herself, 

_“Dixie bridge, if you’re out there listening. I just want everything to be okay.”_

With a final deep breath, still holding tightly onto Bellamy’s hand, she toed the rusty metal edge of the bridge, looking down at the water below them. 

“You ready?” He asked, giving her a smile that made something in her chest feel warm. 

All she could manage was a nod.

And just like that, they jumped. 

It was pure weightlessness, the sudden drop as they cut through the midnight air. 

Clarke yelped, reaching out and grabbing Bellamy for support as they crashed into the freezing water below. 

It was cold and clear, the most blissful type of clarity. For the first time since her immigration notice was served, her brain was quiet. 

Bellamy held onto her the entire time, pulling her up to the surface, holding her close to his chest. 

He was warm and strong and radiating joy, and despite herself, she leaned over and pecked a kiss to his lips, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as they treaded water. 

Surprisingly, he kissed her back, a soft, careful kiss. His lips were damp, and he tasted like salty water and cinnamon whiskey. 

“This...is home,” he said, more to himself than to her, chuckling as Miller splashed them both with water. 

***

It was almost daybreak by the time they finally snuck into the house, drunk and happy and exhausted. 

Clarke had warmed up considerably since they arrived, her arms wrapped around his torso as they stumbled up the stairs. 

He couldn’t help it, he was happy and glad that whatever happened between them had passed. 

“Do you want to join me?” Clarke asked, undoing the string from her bikini and letting it fall to the ground before she’d even finished asking. 

“I uhh—“ 

She didn’t wait for him to answer, just dipped into the bathroom tossing her bikini bottoms through the open doorframe before the rush of the shower filled the room. 

This was a bad idea. 

They shouldn’t get in the habit of doing this, not when the first time almost ripped them apart. Neither of them communicated well, and with the added complication of sex, it was a recipe for disaster. 

But his body _really_ liked Clarke. 

It was so tempting. 

And his brain was still a little fuzzy. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he stepped out of his swim trunks and followed her into the bathroom. 

It’d been so good the last time, incredible even, he had to know if they could top it. 

He followed her into the shower, probably drunker than he thought because he almost slipped on the wet tile. 

In the end, they just made out under the spray. It was wet and hot and clumsy and just edging on desperate. 

But it felt good. 

Tonight had been a good night. 

Things weren’t fixed by any means, but they were better, and for that, Bellamy was grateful. 

***

This time, Clarke woke up in Bellamy’s arms. Her face was tucked into his neck, their bodies curled together. His hand was splayed across her back, a comforting warmth against her skin. 

She could feel his lips on her hairline, a gentle press, like he fell asleep kissing her forehead. 

Her brain was foggy, and her head was throbbing, all she wanted to do was curl back in and fall asleep.

It was so warm, so comfortable, she couldn’t remember the last time that she’d been held like this, the last time she’d felt safe in someone else’s arms. 

Still half asleep, she traced her finger over his skin.

He had a small tattoo right over his heart, an intricate weaving of circles. She hadn’t looked at it closely before, but it was one of many. They were all tiny pieces of what made Bellamy who he was. She wondered whether they meant anything, what stories lay behind all of them.

When this all started, she thought it would be fine for them to stay strangers, to keep each other at arm’s reach. But now she longed to know more.

She wanted to stay like this for a moment longer, stretch it out, and wait for him to wake up. Maybe they could finally talk to each other—she could finally get to know him for who he is.

But her bladder had other ideas. 

Carefully, she eased out of Bellamy’s embrace, trying not to wake him. 

“Mhmm, no baby, it’s early...” he mumbled, still asleep. “Baby...” 

The words set something off in her—panic maybe. It jolted her awake, out of the lovey, sleepy haze she’d been in. 

It was too domestic. 

They weren’t supposed to be like this. 

He wasn’t supposed to call her baby when they were alone...and she wasn’t supposed to like it so much. She wanted to crawl back into bed so badly, curl back into his arms and fall asleep in the warmth they’d been living in before. 

It was harder than she thought, keeping a mental distance in this arrangement. 

Suddenly she understood why he’d left before she woke up the other day, why he’d put that distance between them. 

Sex was one thing, it was physical and mindless. But snuggling and soft early morning kisses, were just going to make everything harder. 

She wanted to follow his words, wanted to indulge in the fantasy that they were more than just a convenient warm body to one another. But she knew she shouldn’t. 

This was a legal arrangement, first and foremost. Bellamy wasn’t her boyfriend or her husband or anything else, he was her green card spouse, and they were going to get fake married. 

There was nothing else between them, and there never would be. Any delusion to the contrary would end up muddling her thoughts. 

With one last look, she placed a pillow below Bellamy’s arm, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear before she slipped away. 

***

The kitchen was buzzing with life—even considering the early morning. 

Warm crackling bacon, the sizzle of eggs, the soft buttery scent of baked goods, filled the air, encompassing her, wrapping her in a warm hug. 

Once again, there was an ache. A reminder of being young and wearing pajamas that folded around her feet and running down the stairs as fast as she could to get her hands on the first pancake. 

This was different, of course, she’d changed into leggings and a worn sweater, older, taller, less innocent and excited than she was before. This wasn’t her house, her dad wasn’t waiting to give her a scruffy-bearded kiss on the cheek and dance her mom around the kitchen. 

All of that was a distant memory now. A glimmer of a time when Clarke wasn’t all by herself, when she’d had people to talk to and lean on and share with. She’d had what Bellamy has here. 

The first time she met Bellamy, she immediately noticed how he smiled with his entire face. It lit up his eyes, drew up his cheeks, showed all of his teeth. His whole face came to life, and it was infectious. He was one of those people that everyone liked. 

She’d always been jealous of it. People never liked her like that, never smiled back at her like she brought the sun into the room. 

But being here, meeting all these people, it explained the warmth behind Bellamy’s eyes. His life was full of love, full of memories and laughter and birthday parties and pancakes. 

There was a silence to Bellamy that made her wonder what lay under the surface, what he’d been through that drew him to this patchwork of people, but it was obvious that he was truly and unconditionally loved. 

She had no doubts that his life hadn’t been easy, that he had fought to be where he was, but when it came to things like love—he didn’t look at the world like she did. 

The affection, the comfort, holding each other, it was second nature to him. His friends all did it, throwing their arms around one another, pressing wet, smacking kisses to each others’ cheeks. They were generous with their love, open with each other, and open with her. 

But things didn’t come easily for her like that. When she loved, she didn’t know how to control it. It was so rare—and she knew what it was like to lose it, that she held on too tight, and it died anyway. 

She didn’t know love without loss.

She didn’t know how to toe the line between affection and consuming, overwhelming intensity. 

From the way her chest fluttered when Bellamy smiled at her, Clarke understood that it was dangerous. This was precisely the kind of thing she’d spent her entire adult life trying to avoid. 

Hell—one night together, and she was already getting attached. 

She couldn’t keep putting herself in situations where she was inevitably going to get hurt. 

“Good Morning Clarke,” Marcus grinned, removing his headphones as he burst through the door. “Are you heading out for a walk?” 

Still reeling a little, she nodded, giving Marcus a small smile as she walked into the fresh morning air. 

It felt good, centering, a wave of clarity amidst all the noise. Her brain felt too full—bursting with memories and thoughts and fears and regret.

“Fuck,” she groaned, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes until she saw stars.

She was a scientist, she dealt in facts and diagrams and figures. On paper, this agreement was perfect. They’d nailed down every detail to a tee. But unfortunately, people and relationships were never as simple as they seemed on paper. 

***

“Octavia, open the door,” Bellamy sighed, rapping his knuckles on the chipped wood. 

He’d only lived in this house as an adult, never had the chance to really leave his mark on any of the rooms. But 14-year-old Octavia had been determined to make the most of her very first real home. 

The door was plastered with peeling posters, wrinkled sheets of printer paper with rainbow quotes rubbed into them. There were a handful of stickers pressed into the uneven surface, curling around the edge, their age showing in the dirt-covered backs that were just visible. 

“I’m so hungover...why, are you awake before Sophie?” She sighed, swinging the door open and rubbing her eyes with one hand. 

Behind her, Lincoln was still sound asleep, buried underneath Octavia’s pink checkered bed sheets. 

With a backward glance, she quietly closed the door, gesturing for Bellamy to follow her through the vaulted, wood-floored hall. 

They twisted their way through the halls, just like they had when O was a kid. Through winding corners and past floor to ceiling windows and up a tiny, narrow flight of stairs until they reached the overlook. A tower at the very top of the house, made only of windows and filled with old books stacked on the floor. 

“So, are you going to apologize for hiding your fiancé from me for two years?” Octavia asked expectantly, settling crossed-legged beside a tall stack of Bronte novels. 

“Don’t be like this,” he sighed, sinking down beside her. “I can’t take it. Not from you.”

“This was a huge secret. It’s not like you hid a tiny tattoo or a weird career change or a bad dye job! A whole wife, Bellamy! A whole person! A stranger in our family.” 

Octavia did always have a penchant for theatrics, but for once, he saw where she was coming from. It’d been just the two of them for so long, in the cramped apartment with the flickering lights. Octavia didn’t trust people easily, very rarely let them in. And he’d sprung a sister in law on her like it was nothing. 

He longed to tell her the truth, to explain why this all seemed so awkward and out of place. But he couldn’t, even if he hadn’t promised Clarke, he couldn’t drag his baby sister into his mess. 

When she was young, and things were terrible—he’d lied to her a lot. Small things, promises he couldn’t keep, excuses about who her dad was or why they were eating grilled cheese for dinner again. It was never on purpose, always out of love, out of necessity, lies to protect her.

But necessary or not, he’d hated lying to her. Deep down, it always felt like she knew, like a small piece of her trust faded away every time he did. 

And now—he had to do it again. 

“She’s important to me O—and she’s a good person. Go easy on her for me.” 

“You’ve never had anything nice to say about anyone at that hospital...I just don’t understand...” 

“Love is beyond understanding...” he shrugged, lips quirking into a grin before he could finish his sentence. 

Octavia shoved him lightly, pushing over a stack of books, a ghost of a smile was teasing at her lips too. 

“You’re the worst,” she sighed, leaning back against her elbows. “And there’s something you’re not telling me.” 

Apparently, he wasn’t as good of a liar as he thought. 

He should stick to his own advice, stick as close to the truth as possible, it was the only way he would be able to get Octavia off his back. 

“I met Clarke on my first day of work...she stole my coffee order. And then she turned out to be my boss, and she spent the whole day yelling at me. We fought like crazy, giant arguments that made the whole hospital turn their heads,” he explained, starting from the beginning. “But then, I started to notice things about her. Little things. The time she took with parents who lost their babies, the way she made the bed in the on-call room after she slept in it, the way she twisted her earrings when she was nervous. We spent so much time together, I learned so much about her, and yet, she was still a mystery. This beautiful, insanely smart person who made something in my chest feel weird. For a long time, I thought it was hate, but I realized that the entire time it was me trying to push down this overwhelming urge to kiss her.” 

He’d never let himself admit that last part aloud, it was something that he’d kept pushed down so far that he totally forgot it existed. Except now, he had kissed her, and it was everything he imagined and then some. 

“That was cavity-inducing meets Jane Austen, but that doesn’t explain why you didn’t even tell Murphy,” Octavia said, impatiently holding up a book for emphasis. 

“But then, she kissed me and well, one thing led to another, and we become the kind of people who kiss but never talk about it. It grew into something bigger from there, and it was messy and painful and, at times, really fucking embarrassing,” he continued easing into the lie. “And one day, we woke up, and I looked down at her, and I just knew—Clarke is the person I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with.” 

Octavia still looked skeptical, chewing on her bottom lip as she mulled over his words. 

“You’re still lying. There’s more to it than this. I would guess that she’s pregnant, but last night made it obvious that she isn’t...” 

Fuck. 

He was screwed. 

Octavia had gotten it into her head that he was lying. And once was she convinced of something, there was no stopping her. 

He had to fix this...fast. They couldn’t afford to have anyone doubting them, not when he had a missed call from Ontari sitting in his voicemail, and Clarke’s immigration hearing was inching closer every day. 

But he was out of lies, there was nothing else he could think of that would convince his sister that something weird wasn’t going on. Hell—half of what he’d said was the truth, and she still didn’t believe him. 

So instead, he changed the subject. 

“Murph wants to call his mom,” he said, hoping that it would be the end of the conversation about him and Clarke for now. 

Octavia paused, studying him for a long moment, her bright eyes boring into his. And then, she went along with it. 

“That’s a bad idea,” she shrugged, examining her nailbeds. 

They hadn’t resolved anything, but at least things felt a little more normal this way.

***

Miller and Eric made breakfast, finished off with Indra’s famous biscuits, and Kane’s fresh honey from his hives. It was truly a massive spread—the biggest Bellamy had seen since they all came home from overseas.

Clarke seemed overwhelmed by it all, a single biscuit and a link of sausage in front of her.

Despite himself, he wrapped an arm around the back of her chair, bending to whisper in her ear.

“It’s not a southern breakfast if something isn’t falling off your plate,” he whispered, bumping his nose against her jaw.

A small smile, edged on her cheeks, her gaze flicking from her empty plate and then over to his own packed one.

“Wanna give me a hand?” She murmured, stealing a tater tot.

He piled an enormous amount of food on her plate, keeping their heads pressed together so he could quietly explain what each item was.

Giggling, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeding him a piece of sausage when he finally drew away.

It was sweet and oddly intimate for something that was an act for his family sitting around them. He couldn’t help it, he kissed her back, right on the temple. A few stray strands of hair got caught it in his mouth, but it was well worth it when he caught the way her eyebrow jumped at the gesture.

He didn’t really understand what was happening between them. It wasn’t that he liked Clarke—because there were still moments where she made him want to rip his hair out, but things were different now. There was more to her, small things. The tiny mole above her lip, the way she scrunched her nose when she laughed and how her hand always managed to settle on his forearm. In place of all the things he’d pretended to notice about her to Octavia, there were real things in their place.

This was harder than he’d anticipated, keeping his distance. She was everywhere—laughing and holding his hand and kissing him in the shower.

It wasn’t as black and white as it was when they’d started.

“Bellamy—you dropped your balls,” Murphy chuckled, rolling a marble across the table to clink with Bellamy’s water glass.

There was humor to it, but it was coded. Bellamy knew what he was getting at, Murphy was still mad about Charleston, mad that he’d tried to look to Kane for advice.

Clarke laughed, and everyone laughed with her, completely missing the sour eye contact between Bellamy and Murphy.

Well—almost everybody.

Kane was eying Bellamy, salt, and pepper brows knit together as he studied the space between him and Murphy.

He squirmed under it, suddenly feeling like he was 17 years old and sneaking into Kane’s property in the middle of the night. Like there was a bright floodlight in his face, and he’d been caught alone in a field while all his friends scrambled for cover.

Kane always saw straight through him in a way nobody else did.

There was a chance he already sensed the Murphy thing—possibly that he’d realized something was up with him and Clarke.

Either way, the conversation that was about to follow...was going to be awkward as fuck.

But before he could dwell too long on it, Clarke gathered his hand in both of hers, pulling it into her lap. She wasn’t even looking at him, focused on Harper while she told an embarrassing story about Miller from when they were kids.

Her palms were warm against his, soft and comforting. The gesture itself was painfully intimate, their hands tucked under the table away from his sister’s laser focus. Something about it didn’t feel like it was for show, it was an act of reassurance, like amid all the chaos and the conversation she was looking to him to ground her.

He was the only person she really knew in all this—and maybe that was starting to actually affect their relationship.

Something about Clarke trusting him, holding his hand to make herself feel more steady—it made his chest feel tight. It made him feel needed in a way he hadn’t in a really long time, and it left him wanting more.

“And then Miller and I are making out, and it’s so awkward because obviously, he’s gay, and then Monty whips open the literal closet door and—“ Harper was explaining waving her arms around as she detailed the game of seven minutes in heaven that almost ruined their entire friend group.

She was just about to delve into what was arguably the most interesting part of the whole story when the front door burst open.

“Hey y’all, sorry we're late,” a soft, southern drawl said, moments before Gina appeared with two kids on her hip and her husband in tow.

Bellamy’s hand dropped from Clarke’s grip, and she gave him a look like made every warm and fuzzy feeling he’d been having drain away.

His new “fiancé” was about to meet his ex-girlfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all it's been a quick minute, sorry for the wait but life's been insane! I changed jobs recently and I'm in an unplanned LDR and I just decided I'm going to law school so to say life's been crazy would be an understatement. I hope you're all safe and healthy and happy and spending time with those you love. Now more than ever that feels like that's something that really matters. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy this little trip down to Hilton Head Island aka where I grew up. It's all loosely based on real places and real traditions from down here so I hope y'all like it. You know how I get with scenery sometimes lol I had so much fun with this it was just a blast. This fic has been slow-moving for me to write at times but honestly, I love it so much and I really want to do it justice. I hope you like this! Please let me know what you think I adore hearing from you guys and knowing which parts you connected with (and even which parts you didn't). I will likely be adding to the chapter count as well bc the plot is progressing a lot more slowly than I expected! 
> 
> Sending you all love, wishing you all good health and joy! Love you so much friends, take care of yourselves :)


	7. A slice of the stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait my lovies

Clarke’s stomach sank as Bellamy removed his hand from her thigh and stood to hug Gina. 

Suddenly she was 19 years old again, standing between Finn Collins and the girl he’d cheated on her with. Her cheeks flushed hot, the back of her neck prickling from the empty sting where Bellamy’s hand had laid. 

It wasn’t fair. She knew that. 

Her and Bellamy weren’t really together, but the jealousy was there all the same. 

Gina had long dark hair, curled softly around her shoulders, eyes that caught the light just so, and a smile that made even Clarke feel welcome. 

“You must be Bellamy’s fiancé,” she drawled, untangling herself from Bellamy to wrap Clarke in a friendly hug. 

Her accent had the soft lilt of a Southern Belle, the perfect addition to her bright red lipstick and smocked linen dress. 

And of course, her hug was gentle and laced with perfume, a mom hug to the core. 

If Clarke had to invent her complete opposite in a lab, it would be Gina. 

In all the ways, Clarke was hard, Gina was soft. 

This was the woman Bellamy once loved, a woman he’d chosen to be with, one that his family clearly liked enough to invite her over even after they’d broken up.   
  
Gina, with all her graceful charm, was the kind of girl he was supposed to marry. 

This feeling was one Clarke hadn’t felt since she was in high school. She wasn’t supposed to be the insecure type. After all, she’d accomplished everything she set out to do. 

But her relationship with Bellamy had nothing but uncertainty. She didn’t know where they stood, how he felt—hell, how she felt. 

And seeing this woman who was decidedly nothing like her, made her feel more than a little self-conscious. 

If Bellamy tried to play up their fake relationship to make Gina jealous, Clarke didn’t know if she could handle it. 

Thankfully he just draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her off to the side as Gina and her family greeted everyone else. 

Seeing them all hug and exchange pleasantries made her feel even more like an outsider. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you. I didn’t know,” Bellamy whispered in her ear, his lips bumping the shell of her ear. 

Clarke knew it was supposed to be comforting, but all it did was set her more on edge. 

They all settled back around the table, and somehow, Clarke found herself right beside Murphy. 

He was the only one who seemed more uncomfortable than her. 

With his phone propped in his lap, Murphy typed furiously, scrolling through a webpage that Clarke didn’t recognize. 

She didn’t mean to be nosy, but spying on Murphy was far preferable to hearing Octavia gush about Gina’s new garden. 

Still trying to be subtle, Clarke took a bite of sausage, straining her eyes to read the words on Murphy’s phone. 

“South Carolina Department of Corrections” 

The page read in a thick yellow font, followed by a form that Murphy was typing in. 

Clarke quickly shifted her eyes away, wishing that she’d just stayed in her lane and listened about the carrot season. She felt like she saw something she definitely wasn’t supposed to see, knew the kind of emotions that came with trying to cover up things like that. 

She had once hidden her phone under the table like that, desperately texting her mom’s accountant to scrounge up 10,000 dollars for her mom’s bail. 

Of course, Murphy was not hiding from an angry business partner and the Australian tabloids, but still, it felt like an intrusion on something intensely private. 

In her efforts to avoid being caught, she met Emori’s eyes from across the table. 

Wordlessly Emori gave her a closed mouth smile, like she knew exactly what Clarke just learned. 

It was the most kinship Clarke had felt since she arrived. Maybe she had more in common with these people than she’d realized. 

***

  
Clarke’s discovery sat heavily on her mind as they cleaned up breakfast and headed down to the beach. 

Everyone had their secrets, but her rosy image of this perfect southern family just cracked a little. Absently, she wondered what else was tucked under the comforting drawls and buttered biscuits. 

Bellamy’s fingers tangled with hers, and Clarke stiffened before realizing he wasn’t paying attention to her. He was wrapped up in a conversation about driftwood with Lincoln, so focused that it seemed his fingers found hers on their own accord. 

She’d done something similar earlier and was taken aback by how quickly his presence soothed her nerves. It’d been a long time since she’d had someone or count on, someone to hold on to, even if this was all pretend. 

The gesture was a comfort, the opposite of the overdone kisses and gushing hugs she’d been expecting from him. 

Gina was barely a blip on the radar, more consumed with chasing her sons and chatting with Octavia than with paying attention to Bellamy—or by extension Clarke. 

It did sting how easily Gina slipped into this family, how warmly she was greeted, the inside jokes they shared. 

Clarke would never fit in that way. She wasn’t built for warm hugs or to make casseroles with homemade sausage gravy. 

But she didn’t need to—that wasn’t why she was here. And yet, Clarke couldn’t help but want them to like her. She wanted to belong, wanted Bellamy to know that she could be like them if she tried. 

Not that it would matter. 

In two years, everyone walking beside her would become a stranger again. 

Pulling Bellamy’s hand in a little closer, she continued down the beach, trying to clear her mind. 

Clarke’s brain had been running non-stop since the immigration news hit, and it was becoming more than a little exhausting. 

Some time in the sun would do her some good. She needed to get out of her own head. There was no use in overthinking a fake relationship. 

Her plan to play it cool went pretty well as they walked through the sand, but it came to a grinding halt when Bellamy unwound their hands. In one fluid motion, he peeled off his shirt and pressed a kiss to her cheek before running off to steal a soccer ball from Monty. 

Every muscle in his body rippled, his tan skin catching the sun so beautifully that for a second, she couldn’t think. 

Fake husband or not—Bellamy was undeniably attractive. 

Maybe she should just focus on this. 

Sex, she could handle...everything else was what made things complicated. 

“I know you saw my phone earlier,” Murphy said, shocking Clarke out of her fantasizing. 

He smirked when he followed her line of sight, but it dropped quickly. 

“Don’t tell Bell about it, okay?” He continued, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

Clarke sat down in the sand, keeping her eyes on Bellamy. 

“It's not my place to say anything,” she said, finally turning toward Murphy. “But he does want the best for you.” 

She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to defend Bellamy, but the words came out before she could think about it too much. 

“Yeah, I know. Bellamy wants the best for everyone,” he groaned, sitting beside her. “But I—I don’t know, I kind of just need to be mad at the world for a while, and he doesn’t really roll that way.”

“So you’re not mad at him...he’s just an easy target?” 

“When you say it like that, it makes me sound like a dick.” 

“Hey, I’m not here to judge. Trust me,” she sighed, giving him a closed-mouth smile. 

Murphy quirked an eyebrow at her, turning his phone in his hand. 

“Last time I checked, you were princess Griffin. This is a little under your paygrade, isn't it?” 

“Well, I don’t know what ‘this’ is, so I can’t really answer that,” she shrugged, knowing it was purposefully argumentative, but she didn’t want to make assumptions. 

There was a long pause as Murphy looked out onto the beach and then back at her, clearly sizing up her trustworthiness. 

“My mom is an addict. I haven’t seen her in about eight years,” he said, apparently determining she could hold a secret. “I’ve never really cared about seeing her, but...I’m getting ready to get married and have kids, I don’t know...it’s been weighing on me.” 

Clarke chewed on her lip, listening as Murphy opened up about his mom. It was more than she’d been expecting him to tell her, and a lot of his closer to home than she would’ve liked. 

“It’s okay if you don’t get it. It was kind of nice to get that out to someone who has no stake in the game,” he said as he wrapped up. 

“My mom was an addict too, and you’re in an impossible situation. I can’t fault you for being angry about it,” she said after a long pause, bracing herself for his shocked reaction. 

When she looked up, he was gaping at her. 

“Is she…?” He asked, leaning on his words in a way that only people who’d lived through it did. 

“Overdosed two years ago. It was all very hush-hush because—well, of everything, but everyone back home knows.” 

Clarke wasn’t sure how she ended up telling Murphy things about herself that even Bellamy didn’t know. But there was a weird connection to having gone through a similar brand of hell. 

“Shit, I’m sorry—“

“It is what it is...” she waved him off, not wanting to get into the sympathy game. 

He seemingly understood because he didn’t press her further. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I was almost hoping to find her in jail. At least then I would know,” Murphy continued, tracing a circle in the sand. 

Clarke didn’t know what to say, she knew there was nothing comforting she could do, and at the end of the day, there was nothing Murphy could do either. 

“What would you do in my position?” He asked, catching Clarke off guard by his sincerity. 

It threw her off. Not because the thought hadn’t crossed her mind but because it didn’t feel like the kind of question to ask a stranger. 

But in truth, she and Murphy weren’t strangers.   
They’d known one another for years. 

“I chased after my mom until the day she died. But I hurt myself a lot in the process, burned a lot of bridges,” she said gently. “I think if you’re happy, genuinely happy, and you don’t have a relationship with her right now...you should consider whether you can handle taking that on again. Because if you’re anything like me, you’ll end up burning yourself down to keep everyone else standing up.” 

The look Murphy gave her said everything. There was no way Clarke was going to be able to make it out of this family in 2 years without forming attachments with anyone—and she didn’t want to. 

She’d been by herself for so long. It felt good to connect with someone again, to be able to be there for them. 

Murphy had been in her life for three years, and this was the first time they’d really spoken to one another. 

Apparently, they had more in common than she realized. 

She hoped he found some kind of peace in this. 

“Come hang out with Emori and me,” he said finally, breaking the silence between them. “I think it’s really fucked that Octavia invited Gina without at least warning you guys.” 

Something about the way he said it told her that they would never readdress this conversation. It was lost in the wind. 

But it did feel good to have a friend, someone who seemed like they genuinely wanted her around. 

***

  
Bellamy tossed the soccer ball one more time, his skin burning from the heat of the sun. 

He really should take a break, but Clarke was sitting beside Murphy and Emori, deep in conversation, and Octavia was still talking to Gina. 

Neither of those conversations was things he wanted to step into, not today. 

So he moved to sit beside Kane, stealing a chip from the bag propped on his stomach. 

“One day, you’re just going to turn into one big freckle kid,” Kane chuckled, setting down his book. 

Bellamy laid back in the sand, letting himself slip back into his high school self for a brief moment. 

Kane was the only person who Bellamy ever trusted to let his guard down around. These visits were a relief, like for five seconds, he could breathe. Well—usually, at least. 

“I told Octavia not to invite her, by the way. But it doesn’t seem to be going that badly,” he continued, turning to look toward Gina. 

“Everyone needs to calm down. We’ve been broken up for years. Gina is married to someone else,” Bellamy groaned, flopping back in the sand. “I wish everyone would stop bringing it up because I think it’s making Clarke antsy.” 

“She has nothing to worry about,” Kane shrugged, giving Bellamy one of those smiles that made it seem like he knew more than he should. “You’re clearly in love with her.” 

That was a stretch. 

Bellamy was nowhere near in love with Clarke. 

In lust, possibly. 

But not in love. 

So either they were better liars than he thought, or Marcus was onto him. 

Both possibilities made him feel a little sick. 

“Do you like her?” Bellamy asked, hoping that once again, Kane could just tell him what to do and fix everything. 

Kane chewed on a chip, squinting at Bellamy as he mulled over the question. 

“Does it matter if I like her?” 

“It does to me.” 

And that was the truth. No matter how much he didn’t want to admit it, Kane’s opinion meant a lot to Bellamy. 

“She reminds me of someone I loved a long time ago...and you remind me of myself a long time ago,” he said finally, drifting off like he was lost in a memory. “Don’t be like me and fuck it all up.” 

  
***

  
Clarke flopped back on the bed in just her bra and a pair of panties, already exhausted and not at all excited at the prospect of what dinner might hold. 

Gina wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d expected. If anything, she was friendly and pleasant. 

But her presence stoked deep insecurity at the bottom of Clarke’s stomach, and mixed with her confusion over the conversation with Murphy—it’d been a disorienting day, to say the least. 

The last thing she wanted to do was sit across from Bellamy’s slightly hostile sister while Clarke pretended like it wasn’t a big deal that his hand was on her thigh. 

Steam filled the room as Bellamy emerged from the shower, towel slung low on his hips. 

“Are you okay, ba—uh, Clarke?” He asked, propping his shoulder in the doorway. 

Clarke didn’t answer, heat rising up the back of her neck. 

Bellamy was still—very hot, of course. The sun just made him look more like a marble statue than he had before. 

She had no claim to be jealous, no reason to be, but still, there was an odd possessiveness that Clarke felt over Bellamy. She wanted to stake her claim, to make him remember that she was still around. 

So instead of answering, Clarke just pushed herself further back on the bed. 

It took approximately two seconds for Bellamy to drop his towel, and in a handful of steps, he was on top of her. 

The ends of his hair were still wet, and they peppered small drops of water onto Clarke’s cheeks as he bumped their noses together. 

Bellamy’s hand trailed down her side, toying with the waistband of her panties. 

Their lips hovered a few inches apart, like neither of them wanted to make the first move. 

“What did you almost call me back there?” She whispered, smoothing her hands down his back, relishing in the heat of his skin against hers. 

“I think you already know…” 

“I want to hear you say it, though,” she whined, nudging her lips against the curve of his jaw. 

Bellamy pulled back slightly, smirking at her before he rolled onto his back. 

“I don’t just throw that around Willy nilly…” 

“Oh, is that so?” Clarke said, moving to lie on top of him, pressing a kiss to the juncture of his neck. “Well, I’m just going to have to earn it, won’t I?” 

She continued her path down his neck, running her teeth across his pulse point before continuing. 

A soft kiss to his pec, on each of the freckles that spanned his chest, milky constellations splattered on his skin. 

Her tongue darted out to trace the dips of his abs, down his stomach until she reached his hip bone. 

Once again struck with a deep burn of possessiveness, she sucked a mark into his skin, leaving a patch of red in her wake. 

It stoked something in the depths of her brain, the idea that he was hers, and now it was there for the world to see. 

“Fuck, baby, you don’t have to,” Bellamy whined, gently pushing her hair off her forehead as she continued down, working him in her hand. 

Not bothering with a response, Clarke preened at how he called her baby, swiping her thumb over the head of his dick. 

Carefully, she followed the path of her thumb with her tongue. 

“Oh my god, Clarke.” 

It was all the encouragement she needed to take him fully in her mouth, one hand moving up and down his cock and the other trailing down between her own legs. 

“You take me so well, baby,” Bellamy moaned, running a hand through her hair as she continued sucking him off. 

She glanced up at him through her lashes, only to find him looking back down at her. 

He bucked up into her throat, and she moaned, spurring another string of expletives from Bellamy. 

Seeing him like this, so lost in the heat of the moment, head tilted back, long curls splayed around him, it was all impossibly hot. 

Clarke worked her clit a little harder, feeling heat burn down the back of her neck and through her spine as she took Bellamy down her throat. 

“Fuck, fuck, yes…” he groaned, forcing his eyes back open to meet her gaze. 

She bobbed up and down, timing her movements to the pace of her middle finger on her center. 

“Baby, I’m gonna,” he warned her, a few seconds before he came, and she came crashing behind him, a lick of heat traveling from her spine through her entire body. 

She swallowed, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb as he pulled her back up to him, hugging her close as he kissed her. 

There was no doubt he could taste himself on her tongue and the idea of that alone, sent another wave of tingles rushing through Clarke’s body. 

They kissed lazily for a while, just gentle roving hands and the soft press of lips. 

An oddly intimate moment. 

Clarke knew she should break away, and yet—she couldn’t bear to. 

When they were like this, everything made sense. There was no fake relationship or family drama or ex-girlfriends or childhood trauma—just the two of them and their bodies. 

At this moment, Clarke could’ve almost deluded herself into believing there was something between them, that maybe in the midst of all this, they could make a life together. 

But then she remembered Gina, perfect, light, and breezy southern Belle. 

That was what Bellamy wanted, the kind of wife he would settle down with once this all blew over. 

This wasn’t his forever. 

Clarke wasn’t his forever. 

And he wasn’t hers either. 

The more she remembered that, the better off she would be. 

***

  
“Where have you two been?” Kane asked, setting his book down to give them a knowing smirk. 

“You missed quite a bit,” Indra added, eyes still glued on the pages of her own reading. 

The house seemed otherwise empty, just the two of them curled up in the sitting room with the windows open and C-SPAN droning on in the background. 

It tugged at Bellamy’s heart, how nostalgic it all was. This was how he’d spent every evening after dinner, sprawled out on the floor with his homework, listening to the click of Kane’s pen as he circled passages in his books. Octavia usually grew bored of her schoolwork more quickly, abandoning her division or English essay in favor of sitting on the arm of Indra’s chair and reading over her shoulder. 

After spending his childhood constantly rilled up from worry and stress, it’d been an unmeasurable relief. Lying on the floor without a care in the world had been an indulgence he’d never allowed himself. 

The first real safe space Bellamy ever knew. 

But familiar as it was, neither Kane nor Indra looked like they were ready to go out to dinner. 

“Do I want to ask?” Bellamy sighed, sitting on the arm of Kane’s chair despite knowing he was too big to fit comfortably. 

“Sophie decided she only wanted to eat Bojangles, and then she laid on the floor and screamed when Lincoln said no. This, of course, triggered Jordan to start screaming that he also wanted Bojangles, specifically French fries, in case you were wondering. And then not wanting to be left out, Gina’s kids also joined in,” Indra explained. “Murphy and Emori dipped out of the whole mess within three minutes, and Raven followed.” 

Kane nodded, pointing to the reheated casserole sitting on the coffee table. He’d always been happier curled up at home than in a button-down at a fancy dinner. 

“You’re more than welcome to help yourself. But admittedly, we aren’t very exciting,” he chuckled, lifting up his well-worn copy of War and Peace. 

There was a part of Bellamy that wanted to relive his happiest years, to dig out his old copy of the Iliad, and lie on the floor with Clarke. But it might be a little vulnerable for their dynamic. 

“Did they take the boat?” He asked, nudging Kane’s arm with his elbow, hoping that he could escape some of the teasing. 

“They drove because screaming children on open water is against maritime law,” Indra snorted, finally looking up from her book with a soft smirk. 

To Bellamy’s surprise, Clarke chuckled with her, sitting carefully on a nearby chair as he and Kane discussed the boat. 

She may not fit in with his sister and some of his friends, but she looked pretty at home in the den. 

Marcus’ words from earlier struck Bellamy again, and he wondered who that long lost love was. In all the years he’d known the man, he’d never brought a woman home. 

Something about the weight of the words wedged under his skin, made Bellamy wonder why exactly Marcus chose to tell him that, when he’d never alluded to anything like it before. 

He was almost certain that Clarke was not his once in a lifetime love. 

Things like that tended to be obvious, didn’t they? 

Instant sparks. 

They’d had instant sparks alright, but it wasn’t the warm and fuzzy kind. 

Bellamy’s feelings for Clarke always felt more like a deep, consuming burn. Usually, rage, sometimes admiration, but always something that he never wanted to get too close to. 

“The keys are on the mantle,” Kane said with a gentle pat on Bellamy’s shoulder. “Turn the safety lights on. It’s getting dark.” 

It was enough to push away Bellamy’s musings for another day. 

He’d missed being out on the water. Driving the boat was a different kind of thrill. 

With a nod of his head, he gestured for Clarke to follow him through the house and out to the back porch. The boat bobbed by the pier, illuminated by the peachy pinks and warm orange of the setting sun. 

Under any other circumstance, this would’ve been romantic. 

***

  
Clarke snuggled under the thick blanket the Bellamy draped over her lap, eyes on the horizon as they coasted through the water. 

Bellamy had a calmness on the island that he didn’t have when they were back home, like an unspoken tension unwound from his shoulders. 

The breeze caught his curly hair, blowing it away from his face as he steered the boat through the water. 

“Look out over there,” he whispered, cutting the engine and letting the boat glide quietly. 

A few feet away, a cluster of dolphins crested the surface, their shadows catching on the backdrop of the sunset. The whole thing was so beautiful, that Clarke felt oddly emotional. 

There was a pure childhood excitement seeing wild animals in their natural habitat, playing with one another, and splashing. 

Clarke and Bellamy leaned over the edge, his hand braced against her back, the dolphins so close that if she reached out, they were within reach. 

One of them swam over, splashing just enough for the water to pepper their faces. 

“Bold, aren’t you?” Clarke giggled, rearing back as the water continued to rain down on them. 

Bellamy chuckled with her, arms wrapped firmly around Clarke’s shoulders as he clicked his tongue, urging the dolphin to break the surface. 

It turned to be a fruitless exercise, with the dolphin eventually growing tired of them and swimming away. 

“Sometimes, I really miss things like that,” Bellamy sighed, reaching out to wipe a stray drop of water off Clarke’s cheek before returning back to the steer. “There are no dolphins in Boston.” 

Clarke returned to her place on the bench, allowing herself to sit a bit closer to her fiancé. 

“It’s weird, they’re thousands and thousands of miles apart, but this place reminds me of home…” she admitted, eyes fixed on the water. 

It was all so painfully familiar, the clear water, teeming with life, the hot, sticky sun, and bright blue sky. 

“You never talk about it,” Bellamy replied, voice quiet and careful. “Where you’re from, what your life was like before you came to Boston.” 

The last person she ever expected to talk about this with was Bellamy, but something about how he was looking at her made her want to tell the truth. 

Maybe not the whole truth, but some of it. 

“My dad was a structural engineer. One of the best in Melbourne. When he designed bridges, I would get to tag along on his old fishing boat,” she said, letting herself sink into the nostalgia. “There was a little nook off the coast where we would go when we got done early. You sit in your boat, and they dive for fresh oysters. The water is so clear you can see them go all the way down. And when they come up—they hand you this perfectly salty, delicate little thing, and it tastes like the ocean in the best way. He would tuck one of the shells in the pocket of my overalls for luck, and I kept them all in this little jar.” 

Clarke’s voice choked with emotion. She hadn’t let herself uncover that memory in decades. Those sun-filled, beautiful afternoons with her dad were some of her favorite days of her life. 

If she closed her eyes, she could still hear the crack of the knife against the shell, taste the salty tingle of the oysters. 

Clarke hadn’t noticed the movement, but Bellamy carefully took her hand in his own, rubbing his thumb against her knuckles. 

His silence, the simple gesture, she knew that telling him was the right choice. Bellamy knew loss, too, knew the weight of carrying memories tinged with pain. He understood why talking about something so simple was so hard for her. 

“Well, we don’t have anything like that around here, but I think I know where we should go for dinner,” he smiled, giving her hand one last squeeze before he stepped away and roared the engine back to life.

***

Bellamy gave no indication of where they were going, steering the boat past the bright lights of the Hilton Head hotel strip and further into the long expanse of water. Clarke didn’t protest, just leaned back on the railing, letting the cold evening air blow her hair around her head. 

He knew that if he said anything, the feeling would pass. 

But after Clarke opened up, there was a strong urge to do the same. 

She would understand, maybe better than most. 

They were going to Folly Beach. 

Somewhere he hadn’t been since he was a little kid, since things were good. 

It was completely dark by the time he docked the boat and helped Clarke climb out. He kept her close, knowing that even in her loose flannel and leggings, she stood out. 

“Not too much farther,” he assured, guiding her onto the gravel sidewalk and toward the small cluster of lit buildings on the beach. 

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” She teased, and as she smiled up at him, it struck Bellamy how different this all felt. 

Without him noticing, he and Clarke had fallen into a rhythm. They’d grown comfortable in each other’s presence. 

And somewhere along the way—the snark had dropped off. 

Where there was once biting insults and competition, now held gentle teasing and soft smiles. 

The prospect of it all worried him. Sure, this was less exhausting. But it also left a lot of room for feelings he didn’t want to deal with. 

“My mom used to work here,” Bellamy explained, gesturing to a peeling old building with a neon sign that read ‘Nicky’s Paradise.’ “Me and O would sit in the booths and play while she served customers. The chef always made us fried shrimp and grits and gave us onion rings that he swore up and down were leftovers. They have amazing lemon meringue pie too.” 

Clarke tangled their fingers together and followed him into the dimly lit restaurant. 

Either Bellamy had romanticized it in his head, or this place had deteriorated slightly since he was a kid. In truth, it was probably a little bit of both. 

The booth where he and Octavia always sat was still exactly how it ever was. The leather on the seats chipped and peeling, but it held up to the memory. 

He ordered more food than they could ever possibly eat, baskets of fried catfish, shrimp, hush puppies, biscuits, bowls of grits, Mac and cheese, and gravy. 

The waitress winked at them as she set their iced teas on the table, “y’all are in for a treat.” 

“I don’t know about a treat, but if your arteries aren’t clogged by the end of this, I didn’t do my job,” Bellamy teased, rolling one of the free crayons over to Clarke. 

“Ohhh, so that was your plan all along,” she teased, doodling a flower in the corner of the placemat. “Murder me with fried shrimp.” 

“Hey, there are worse ways to go!” He shrugged, drawing a grid on his own paper to start a game of tic tac toe. 

Clarke beat him—of course. 

They joked back and forth about the worst way to go out, playing rounds of simple table games on their menus. 

“Okay, which is worse, eaten by ants or pulled underwater by a squid that keeps getting distracted,” Clarke asked, sucking out the last of her ice tea, the straw crackling loudly. 

Bellamy pulled the glass away, receiving a frown in response. 

“Am I conscious the entire time the ants are eating me?” He asked, pushing the glass to the edge, so the waitress knew to refill it.

“Hmm, yes. You are awake and totally aware. Same with the squid.” 

“You are cruel, but creative. I respect that. I think I’d go with the squid.” 

Clarke nodded, taking a sip from her newly filled tea with a spark of joy that Bellamy had never seen before in her eyes. 

He liked this version of Clarke. Genuinely enjoyed spending time with her. She was relaxed, curly hair thrown up in a ponytail, and no makeup on her face. This version of Clarke threw her head back when she laughed and drew oddly detailed sketches of leaves. 

Bellamy wished they had always been like this, that he’d met this version of Clarke in a coffee shop on his very first day of work. Their orders would’ve gotten mixed up, and she would’ve smiled at him like she was right now. 

Who knows where they would’ve ended up if that had been the case. 

But things were never that simple. 

“Okay, you accidentally poison yourself with your favorite food or die in the middle of sex?” He asked, shaking off thoughts of what could’ve been. 

“Neither of those are bad options, Bellamy,” she giggled, biting her lip as she considered his question. “But I think dying in the middle of sex would be traumatizing for the person I was having sex with.” 

“That’s fair, but that doesn’t excuse you from answering,” he shrugged, reaching out to help the waitress arrange their enormous spread on the table. 

The conversation derailed, as he explained what each item was, helping Clarke load them onto her plate until it was full from edge to edge. 

“I think I want to die while eating this,” she said, dipping the corner of her biscuit in a pool of gravy. “That’s my answer.” 

“That’s a good answer honestly, but dip the shrimp in ranch before you make any bold statements.” 

Clarke obliged, her eyes rolling back a little as she chewed. It would never cease to amaze him how Clarke ate every single bite of food like it was the most amazing thing she’d ever tasted. 

It made her the ideal person to try food with. The reaction was never disappointing. 

She showed equal enthusiasm for the first bite of food as she did for the last. 

“Definitely choosing food over sex,” she nodded, taking another helping of Mac and cheese. 

“To be honest, I would have to agree.” 

They’d made an impressive dent in the food, more than Bellamy had anticipated. 

“These were my mom’s favorite. She’d box up leftovers and keep them in the—“ he started, turning a hush puppy between his fingers before he paused. 

Hush puppies had never been his mom’s favorite. 

It only occurred to him now, at thirty years old, that they kept well in the freezer. 

And it felt like he’d been slapped, all the happiness from before draining away. 

It wasn’t often that things about his mom got to him, but a wave of grief so strong it could’ve knocked him over, washed over Bellamy. 

All the guilt from his childhood, the nights when he’d tried to cut his peanut butter and jelly to share with Aurora, came back in one go. 

Weirdly, without having to say anything about it, it seemed like Clarke understood. 

She reached across the table, taking his hand even though his fingers were greasy. 

“Your mom made a lot of sacrifices for you, didn’t she? You’re lucky. She sounds like she really loved you,” she said, rubbing her thumb against the back of his hand. 

“She did,” he nodded, letting himself find comfort in the gesture. It’s not normally something he would do, but Clarke was looking at him with so much sincerity, that he couldn’t bear to pull away. 

***

  
Clarke took a long pull from the bottle of wine before trading it to Bellamy for the pie tin. 

She was way too full to be eating it, but he was right. It was the best lemon meringue pie she’d ever tasted. 

Today hadn’t gone anything like she’d expected. 

The moment she met Gina, Clarke had been bracing herself for a fight. 

But it never came. 

In fact, she felt like for the first time, she actually knew Bellamy a little better. 

They were having fun together, enjoying each other’s company. 

Maybe this could work. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as big of a disaster as she thought. 

The boat bobbed gently with the ebb and flow of the water, crickets and crawdads croaking around them. 

With one last bite from the pie, she laid back beside Bellamy, allowing their shoulders to press together. 

“You know, you’re not half bad, Griffin,” he said, voice slipping into a slight southern accent from the wine. He seemed to have recovered somewhat from whatever happened in the diner. If not recovered, then at least push it back to where it sat. 

Clarke knew how things like that went, how grief and guilt never truly left you. 

But she didn’t want to push him, to probe into places where she didn’t belong. This was what they did best, comfortable banter. And Clarke wasn’t ready to push the envelope just yet. 

“For a fake fiancé, you’re not so bad yourself,” she replied, allowing herself to lean her head on his shoulder. 

Out in the middle of the ocean, the sky was an inky black, peppered with stars. 

When Clarke was young, she’d been fascinated by the idea that the earth rotated, that she was never looking at the same sky twice. Her little piece of sky in Melbourne, Australia, would someday sit over her dad’s hometown in Boston. 

Logically, she knew the stars marked the sky, but she’d never had a knack for constellations. It felt too clinical for something so beautiful. The stars were magic. They made wishes come true and marked the passage to heaven. 

That was the explanation Clarke had always loved best. 

Especially after she lost her dad, the idea of him living in the sky, sometimes watching over her and occasionally traveling to far off places. It made her feel like he was always with her. 

He’d probably traveled here before, tucked inside the stars that spanned over the marshes. 

Maybe he was here right now. 

Clarke didn’t let herself think back to her childhood often, but today, the usual sting felt a little duller. In fact, the familiar empty ache she felt when she thought about her dad was notably missing tonight—filled instead with memories and fried food and pie. 

Even though today wasn’t what she expected, it was still one of the best days in recent memory, and most of that was thanks to Bellamy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I'm so sorry for the wait! I know there wasn't a whole lot of plot in this chapter but I promise it's all building toward a little something. I'm going to try to be updating more regularly from here on out there so don't you worry your little heads. 
> 
> I love you all so much, thank you to everyone who nominated this little guy for Bellarke fic awards, I am touched that you thought of me! It is so incredibly appreciated. Each and every one of your comments means the world to me. Also, I know I've been terrible about replying but I do read and will reply to each of you because I want you all to know how much i love you. 
> 
> I hope you all like this one, please please let me know if you do!! 
> 
> Till next time my beautiful sunflowers <3


	8. Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I have NO excuse for how long this has taken me, this story threw me for a loop but it's all plotted out now and I'm really excited about the ending I have planned!! 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with this!! I love you guys!

Bellamy hung his button-down in the shower, allowing the steam to press out the deeply folded wrinkles from his suitcase. The humidity sat heavily on his skin as he patted on his aftershave and smoothed a thin coat of gel over his hair. Clarke had taken a liking to running her hands through it, so there was no point in trying to tame the curls. Even though Marcus always gave him a look when he didn’t gel it back. 

As much as he loved being home, loved being near people, they’d been here long enough that it reminded him why he didn’t live here all the time. His family was patchworked and big and loud, but they were also nosy and judgemental at times. Between the simmering feud between Murphy and everyone else, the weird way that Marcus had been hovering, and the general antagonism from Octavia, Bellamy was starting to get exhausted. 

He hated to admit it, but the only person he really wanted to be around was Clarke—and Sophie, but she was getting to the age where she never wanted to sit still. 

His moments with Clarke were quiet. They would read together, run on the beach listening to different music, or sit out on the porch and watch the waves in silence. Bellamy had never been more aware of how well they communicated without having to say a word. 

In truth, he loved it. With everyone else, with his entire family, he was always the one talking, directing, peacekeeping, placating. But with Clarke, he never had to say anything he didn’t want to. 

As he put on his newly pressed shirt, he marveled at how quickly his distaste for her had dissolved. Maybe it was because he understood her better, or maybe it was because she had clicked into a place he never knew he needed, but like it or not, his feelings for her weren’t friendly anymore. 

It made things complicated...every glance, every touch pushed him farther and farther away from their agreement. When he called her baby now, when he held her as they fell asleep, he really meant it. 

But Clarke remained staunchly professional, and that made it easier to bring himself back down to earth. 

“Almost ready?” Clarke asked, knocking softly before cracking the bathroom door open and sending the steam flowing out, filling the air with a cold chill. A chill that ebbed away when she stepped into his space and finished the remainder of his buttons. When she reached the top, she rubbed her thumb in the hollow of his collarbone, giving him a gentle smile as she stepped away. “You look nice.” 

“So do you,” he replied, voice raspier than usual as he looped the tie around his neck and tried to do it the way Kane taught him. 

She looked beautiful with her hair curled softly around her shoulders and over the soft pink satin of her dress. Clarke had a regal kind of beauty that sat hidden in her complicated braids and loose scrubs. When she was like this, with delicate pearl earrings and a smudge of pink on her cheeks, she looked like a Princess. 

He hadn’t realized he said the last part out loud until he saw Clarke blush, her cheeks turning even pinker as she nudged his hands and helped him finish the tie. 

The light floral scent of her perfume clouded his thoughts, sent all rational thinking out the window. He’d already called her princess—and not in a bad way, he might as well lean into it. So he pecked a kiss to the top of her head as she finished, grateful that she didn’t step away and instead wrapped her arms around his torso. 

She could probably hear the way his heart was thudding, how having her close like this made his entire body feel like it was on fire. 

“I haven’t been to the club since I was discharged. I used to go in my uniform,” he explained, letting his cheek rest on her hair. 

It was always easier to talk when their eyes couldn’t meet. Felt more honest somehow. 

“Now you’re just like the rest of us,” she teased, running a finger down his back. 

“At least now nobody will come up to me and thank me for my service during lunch.” 

“I always thought soldiers liked that.” 

“I appreciate it, of course. It’s just kind of awkward. It makes me feel like they think I’m some sort of hero, which, uhh—comes with some guilt. I was a person doing a job. Nobody stops to congratulate you for existing, and you save babies’ lives every day,” he shrugged. It was common among people he knew who served. The guilt of the congratulations, it was hard to explain to people who hadn’t lived it—but thankfully, Clarke didn’t probe further.

She just hugged him a little tighter, and he hugged her back, once again grateful that she understood when he wanted to talk and when he didn’t. 

“So I guess it wouldn’t be appropriate to thank you for your service right now? Even if it’s a little too late on my end?” Clarke asked, pulling away just enough that he could see her face. 

And Bellamy was pretty sure it was the closest thing he’d ever gotten to an apology from Clarke Griffin. 

She looked so earnest—and beautiful, that the only thing he could manage to do was kiss her. 

“We’re going to be late, and I think making your entire family wait for us isn't going to make them like me more,” Clarke said between kisses, already working to undo the gel he’d just applied. 

“They’ll live. We’re only doing this so that the housekeeper can set up for the party tomorrow while everyone is out of the house. It’s a distraction at best.” 

They always did this, the lunch at the club that nobody actually wanted to go to. But it meant a lot to Kane, which is the only reason anyone ever bothered. 

Plus, Octavia liked the theatrics of everyone preparing for her birthday. 

He continued his path across her jaw, down her neck, careful not to leave any marks as he scraped his teeth lightly against her skin. 

“Bellamy…” Clarke whined, but she trailed off when he tightened his hold on her hips and lifted her onto the counter.

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop right now,” he murmured, pressing light kisses to the tops of each of her breasts as he nudged her knees apart. 

A quiet moan was the only sound that filled the space between them, the heat of Clarke’s gaze so intense Bellamy could barely handle it as she pulled him back by the ends of his hair, lip caught between her teeth. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked again, tracing circles over her knee. 

They didn’t have a lot of time, he knew that. But he loved playing this game with her, and he loved that she seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. 

“Please,” she whined, hooking her leg around his hip and pulling him into the cradle of her legs. 

No matter how much Bellamy wanted to, they definitely didn’t have time for that. But a few minutes couldn’t hurt. 

He bent forward for one more kiss, allowing his hands to roam from her waist to her hips, over her legs. Then he lowered himself down just enough that he could angle her knee over his shoulder. 

“Full of surprises, baby,” he whispered, smiling to himself as her skirt fell back to reveal the thinnest, laciest underwear he’d ever seen. 

He couldn’t bring himself to take them off, so he just pushed the scrap of lace off to the side before he kissed his way toward where she wanted him most. 

And the sound she made as he licked into her, the way her hands curled into his hair, he wanted to hold onto the moment for as long as possible. 

But he knew that if he didn’t hurry, someone would catch them in the middle of this. He’d have to hold onto all the things he wanted to try for later. 

Clarke came fast and hard, moaning his name and grasping at the counter for support. Bellamy couldn’t help but feel a wave of pride at how well he’d come to know her, how easily they fit together. 

She stroked his hair with surprising gentleness as she came down, cheeks still flushed a gentle shade of pink. He kissed her, and there was no heat behind it, just contentment. It was the only way to keep himself from saying something stupid, from ruining everything. 

Kane’s words on the beach rang through his brain. Did he and Clarke really have something special? Or were they just benefitting from attraction and proximity? 

Somehow in this moment, it didn’t feel fake to him—not at all. 

***

Eventually, they made their way downstairs, only to wait another fifteen minutes while Murphy and Emori finished getting ready. 

Clarke listened intently while Sophie and Jordan explained their newest game, the invisible twins. Despite her hard exterior, she really was good with kids, and it hit something deep in Bellamy’s heart. Something that should set off alarm bells should tell him that he and Clarke weren’t going to have children together, but the alarm never came. 

“I’m so hungry,” Jordan whined, flopping head onto Bellamy’s thigh, apparently bored with the conversation between Sophie and Clarke. 

Octavia nodded at the little boy and then turned on her heel and screamed at the top of the lungs up the stairs, voice echoing loudly through the foyer. 

A minute later, Emori appeared, followed by Murphy...who looked off-balance, to say the least. 

He’d been off-balance since before they’d left for this trip, but lately, it was getting worse. 

The whole thing made Bellamy nervous. He knew how his best friend could get. Murphy had a good heart, and he’d worked really hard to get to a good place, but happiness was so fragile, and Bellamy knew how tempting it is to slip back into bad habits when things get hard. That in a fraction of a second, Murphy could push them all away and go no contact again. 

It had happened before, right after they came home, the last time things got heated between Murphy and Kane. 

He’d cut them off for two years, all of them. 

And yeah, they were in a much better place now, he had Emori, and everyone had six extra years of wisdom...but nothing could ever be for sure. 

***

  
“My mother would have loved this place,” Clarke whispered, leaning into Bellamy’s side. 

The club reminded her of childhood weekends playing tennis with her mom, drinking ice tea, and pretending to be very grown-up. And later, when she and her friends would spend hours by the pool trying to get the boys to notice their new bikinis. 

Her memories were fond, but tinged with the sourness that lingered over all her old memories. 

“It always makes me feel like I’m a duck in a glass case,” he whispered back, causing her to laugh and pushing away some of the bile in the back of her throat. “Everyone’s always staring at everyone else.” 

Marcus seemed in his element here, greeting those around him, beaming proudly as they walked through the lobby, and he promised to meet random passers-by for a cigar or a drink. 

Something about him reminded Clarke of the world she left behind, the way he moved, the way he talked, the way he ashed his cigars the same way her father once had. 

He led them to the restaurant, chatting with the hostess in a way that indicated he came here often, and they were seated on the patio, facing the golf course. 

Lunch was well, lunch. 

It didn’t seem all that different than the meals they’d shared in the days prior, except for the fancy backdrop and the enormous seafood tower Lincoln was sharing with Harper. 

“Thoughts on the baked cod?” Bellamy asked, tilting his menu toward her. 

Without thinking, she waved her hand and shook her head. 

“There are mushrooms in it,” she said, knowing Bellamy was allergic—but based on his confused look in her direction, he didn’t know that she knew. 

“I uh, didn’t realize. It always throws me off when they call them chanterelles.” 

He took a beat to recover before he smiled and changed the subject to the steak frites. 

And Clarke wished she could see inside his head. 

She hadn’t learned that about him on purpose. Hell, it didn’t even occur to her until the words already left her mouth. It never ceased to shock her how much she knew about him...and how much she didn’t. 

There was a small nudge of satisfaction, maybe even possessiveness, that in some twisted way, they were starting to act like a real couple. 

“If I get the avocado BLT, can we trade halves?” She offered, looking back over his shoulder. 

“Steak panini sound good to you?” 

“Amazing.” 

They gave their orders to the waiter, and Bellamy’s arm slung over the back of her chair. Clarke couldn’t believe how quickly they’d settled into this, how natural it all felt. 

It should scare her—but she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

The chatter was boring. All talk about Octavia’s interior design business and Kane’s plan to donate an addition to the steam room, with added commentary from Jordan about a frog by his chair that got lost in the buzz of the conversation. 

Everything seemed fine, leaning Bellamy and Clarke to share their sandwiches in peace. 

“Do you like pickles?” She asked, pinching the spear between her fingers. 

“Absolutely love em, hand it over,” he grinned, pressing a wet kiss to her cheek as he took the offered pickle. In exchange, she stole a few fries from his plate. 

“I think it’s an American thing. I just don’t like them,” she shrugged when he expressed his disbelief in her food preferences. 

“At least your taste in sandwiches is better.” 

“This bacon is fantastic—“ 

Their admittedly mundane conversation was interrupted by a bang at the end of the table, just far enough away that they hadn’t heard the beginning. 

“Dammit, you don’t get to do this,” Murphy snapped, voice low, tinged with something raw. 

Immediately, Clarke knew this could only go in one direction—badly. 

“Trust me when I say, some stones are better left unturned,” Kane replied cooly, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. 

“What the hell does that mean? Can you just be direct? Just once,” he fired back, slamming another fork against the table. 

At this, Octavia straightened, running her hand through her hair before she fired off at Murphy for disrespecting Marcus and making a scene. 

She, of course, was also making a scene, but that didn’t feel like an appropriate thing to point out. 

“Can everyone stop yelling?” Monty yelled, seeming irritated for the first since Clarke had met him. 

Very quickly, the table descended into chaos, the conversation dipping into so many different directions it was impossible to tell what was being said. 

From what Clarke could gather, there was way more to this Murphy’s mom story than she could understand. Somehow, the tension had shifted from Kane and Murphy to Murphy and Raven. 

And things were getting heated. 

Bellamy was in the middle of it, trying and failing to diffuse the argument before it got even more out of control. 

“Your step-dad ruined my family,” Murphy yelled, no longer bothering to whisper. “Don’t involve yourself in this.” 

“McCreary ruined my life, but yeah, of course, your problems are always the most important,” Raven snapped back, throwing a napkin at his chest. “We aren’t seventeen anymore, Murphy. All of us had shitty parents, but we’re adults now.” 

“Whatever, Raven, for once, this is actually about me. I just want to know if she’s alive, and Kane is obviously fucking lying about something.” 

Very gently, Clarke tugged Emori’s arm and guided her away from the center of the conflict and over to where she and Harper were watching everything unfold. 

She didn’t look surprised or alarmed by any of this, just tired. 

“Are they always like this?” 

“It happens. But it’s rare for it to be this public. It’s a shame Miller had to stay home. He’s really good at breaking these up. Raven and Murphy can get really vicious when they go up against each other,” Harper shrugged, glancing back toward where Jordan and Sophie were coloring on the floor. 

But her face dropped quickly along with her light tone, panic settling into her eyes as she turned fully. 

It was only then that Clarke realized it was oddly quiet on their end of the table. 

And sure enough—the kids were gone. 

Nowhere in sight. 

Harper was frozen in place, staring at a green crayon rolling on the cobblestone. Understandable, considering the circumstances. 

“Hey!” Clarke yelled, so loudly that it actually managed to stop everyone in their tracks. “If you could all stop yelling for a minute. The kids are gone.” 

Not her most sensitive delivery, but it seemed to do the trick. 

More arguing ensued, mixed with fervent panic. They checked the surrounding area for the kids and proceeded to blame each other for the sequence of events. 

“This is your fault! Both of your faults!” Octavia yelled at Murphy and Kane, tears already welling in her eyes as she looked frantically around the table, as if the kids were just hiding underneath the table cloth. 

“Blaming each other isn’t going to help,” Bellamy yelled, firm enough that nobody argued with him. 

He took charge pretty quickly, taking Lincoln and Monty with him as he said something about going to the police station and vanished back through the sliding doors. 

Octavia and Harper talked with a group of waiters—and eventually, the manager of the club. 

From there, they broke off into groups, all searching for two missing little kids who liked to pretend like they were invisible. 

And somehow, Clarke ended up circling the golf course with Marcus. 

***

  
“Sophie!! Jordan?!” Clarke yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth as she scanned the vast expanse of perfectly manicured green grass. 

There wasn’t really anywhere to hide here, but at least she felt useful this way. 

“Any luck?” Marcus asked, running a hand through his greying hair as he came to stand beside her. 

In the light of the island, it was hard to tell how old he was with his ear-length hair and well-defined cheekbones, but now, in the light of their terrible day, Clarke realized he was old enough to be her father. 

“Nothing so far,” she sighed, keeping up a brisk walking pace, mainly because she didn’t know what to say to the older man. 

They continued to search in silence, circling the course and then starting back at the beginning so they could thoroughly check nearby bushes. But the longer they looked, the more the pursuit of the golf course felt hopeless, like a mindless busy activity while Bellamy did the real searching. 

“Where are you from again?” Marcus asked as he ducked down to look through a bush. 

Making small talk right now felt a bit silly, but she didn’t want to insult her fake husband’s surrogate father, so she went along with it. 

“Australia, a small town just outside of Sydney.”

“So the beach must feel like home.” 

“Yeah, I missed it. The beaches up near Boston just aren’t the same. It’s nice to be back.” 

He nodded, moving onto the next bush before he continued asking her questions about her hometown. It seemed casual enough, until he asked a question that always made Clarke’s stomach turn. 

“Do you have any family there still?” 

The question felt complicated because Australia felt like both the loneliest place on earth and a place so crowded with memories she couldn’t bear to return. Technically everyone she’d once loved was scattered in the sparkling blue waters, settled into the reefs and the sand and the waves. Still, the idea of visiting, of submerging herself in that water—it felt morbid. 

“Uh—no, after I lost my mother, it’s just been me,” she said, keeping her face in the greenery, so her expression didn’t give her away. 

Marcus gave her the standard condolences, but he didn’t seem put off by her statement the way most people did. 

“That must’ve been hard on you.” 

“In some ways, it was. But my mother left an incredible legacy behind, and she inspired me to do what I do, so that’s kind of my way of feeling close to her.” 

He looked like he wanted to say more, like he wanted to dig further. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe he just liked collecting lost souls without families, bringing them into the fold. But Clarke couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew more than he was letting on. 

It didn’t make any sense, and yet, it felt like Marcus was asking questions he already knew the answer to. 

Maybe she should lie about something, tell him her mother was a lawyer or a chemist, just to see how he would react. 

Perhaps she was paranoid, reactionary—or maybe she’d become such a liar, that she was starting to assume everyone around her lied as easily as she did. 

The thought of that made her feel nauseous, and she needed some space from this conversation. 

Wordless, she pointed to the other side of the course and speed-walked away to check behind a sand trap. 

Clarke sat in the curve of it, resting her head on her knees and centering herself with a deep breath. 

She was going crazy. 

All the lies, the feelings, weird memories she hadn’t thought of since she was a teenager were filling her brain with noise, and it was starting to become exhausting. 

“Is miss Clarke okay?” A small voice whispered, scaring her so badly that she jumped and smacked her head on the lip of the grass. 

Sitting a few feet away, just around the bend of the trap, so close that Clarke couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen them, sat Sophie and Jordan. 

***

  
The last place Bellamy expected to end up today was the police station. But of course, nothing could ever be normal with his family. 

He couldn’t suppress how furious he was that Kane, Octavia, Murphy—and Raven decided to have a brawl in the middle of a restaurant. There literally could not have been a more inappropriate time or place. 

This whole thing was totally avoidable. They spent the entire argument rehashing disagreements from decades ago. 

“Nobody in this family has any self-control,” he huffed, pressing the heel of his hands over his eyes. 

Clarke wrapped an arm around his waist, rubbing gentle circles through his shirt. 

She’d been amazing through all this, if there was one thing she was good at, it was crises, and he wasn’t sure if he would’ve made it through the morning without her. 

“The kids are safe, and that’s what really matters here,” she assured, and he knew she was right, but the anger still simmered under his skin. 

Sure the kids were okay. They’d been hiding in a nearby sand trap, playing their new invisible game. But things just as quickly could’ve been so much worse, all because they were drowning in secrets. 

He, of course, was only adding to it with his fake relationship, but it felt like there were much bigger lies rumbling under the surface. 

“Murphy and Kane need to sit down and have an adult conversation, not in public, about this whole thing.” 

They all had family shit to deal with, skeletons in their closets, and he wasn’t sure why Murphy was being so unhinged all of a sudden. His mom had been off the radar since they were in high school, and it wasn’t clear what good it would do to find her now. 

He had his ideas, but before he could say anything else to Clarke, two figures emerged from the direction of the dock. 

“I need a stiff drink,” Miller called over his shoulder, beckoning for Bellamy and Clarke to follow. 

They were the last ones left, everyone else going off in their separate directions to fawn over their kids or sulk. 

Might as well try to lighten what was left of the day. 

“What a day,” Jackson agreed, flopping his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Thank God the kids are okay.” 

“A drink sounds great, honestly,” Clarke agreed, looping her arm through Bellamy’s as they walked side by side. Something about the way she smiled at him faltered just enough to make him worry. He hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself. Still, this situation had been running through his head since Clarke pitched this very stupid idea. Not exactly this situation, because even for them, this was beyond insane—but something similar at least. 

Sure Clarke came with her own neuroticism, but with her, what you see is what you get. His baggage sat a lot deeper, and it was tied with the rest of his family, with all their quirks and messes and public arguments and separated but related, parental baggage. And suddenly, it felt like he was one trying to convince her to stay, instead of the other way around. He was the one trying to tell her that they could make it through this. 

The idea of her leaving, of all this being over, fake or not—it gutted him. 

And as she pulled him by the elbow and held him back, allowing his friends to disappear behind a swinging door, Bellamy’s stomach dropped. 

“I know that was insane, and I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of all of that. I wish I could say we’re generally not like this, but we kind of are. But I didn’t really prepare you for this, and if you’re—“ he rambled, trying to get ahead of whatever she was about to say. 

Before he could finish, Clarke stopped him, interrupting him with a cool palm pressed to his cheek. 

“Your family is insane. But everyone’s family is insane. Don’t apologize. All things considered, we were due for a little crazy,” she shrugged, letting her thumb trace the path of his freckles. “Plus, your sister likes me now, so at least it wasn’t all for nothing.” 

And at least that was true. 

In all her relief, Octavia had all but kissed Clarke for finding Sophie. Apparently, finding a lost kid made up for two years of secret dating. 

“So you’re not totally freaked out and about to book the next flight off this Godforsaken island?” 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been around a family that cares about each other enough to fight like that and get over it just as quickly. It’s kind of endearing,” she continued, letting her eyes flutter close as he leaned forward to kiss her. 

Neither of them acknowledged that these kisses weren’t for show anymore, and they hadn’t been for a while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this, it's key to a lot of what's coming next, and what's coming next is well...fun for me, but idk if you'll all come after me for it haha. Thank you for supporting this fic and for not knocking down my door for the spaces between these chapters. I'm trying to create an update schedule soon so that it doesn't happen again!! 
> 
> Please let me know if you liked this one, I think it's one of my favorites yet!! I love getting to know you all and hearing from you!! 
> 
> Stay safe, stay well, I hope you are all taking care of yourselves and if nobody has told you today, you are loved and important! :)


	9. An understanding and a birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi my lovelies, I hope you like this one! :)

Miller dipped behind the bar and served himself four beers, collecting them all in his arms before carrying them back to their corner booth. 

Wick would be pissed about it, but that was a problem for another day. 

“I think we’re all due for some fun after the day we had, don’t you think?” He grinned, sliding the mugs to each of them. “In fact, I think an embarrassing high school story about Bellamy sounds like the perfect way to lighten the mood.” 

Bellamy groaned, burying his head in his arms as his friend began re-telling something embarrassing from middle school. But really, he was kind of relieved. To be honest, when he’d brought Clarke here, this was what he’d been bracing himself for. Not whatever transpired earlier today. Ugly family secrets were usually reserved for much later in a relationship. 

Listening to Miller tells stories about the basketball team and rollerblading in abandoned parking lots felt comfortable, a glimmer of normalcy in a hectic day. Clarke curled into Bellamy’s side, her head pillowed on his shoulder as she laughed along. 

After today, he really felt like they could do this, that being married wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe all this wouldn’t be as temporary as they’d planned. 

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, mostly since she was tough to read—but he felt optimistic. 

They had one round of beers, and then a second, their corner of the old bar warming with shared laughter. By their third, Wick joined them, sliding a large tray of chips, pretzels, and mixed nuts to the middle of the table. 

“Serve yourself again, Miller, and I’m going to ban you,” he warned, swinging an arm around Miller’s shoulders. 

“You’ve banned me like a hundred times already. I’ll believe you when you put my picture by the door.” 

“I’m banning all of you except her,” Wick chuckled, tilting his beer at Clarke as he shoved a handful of pretzels into his mouth. 

“I’m honored, truly,” she deadpanned, triggering a disproportionate amount of laughter from the rest of the boys. 

“That’s my baby,” Bellamy grinned, pressing a wet kiss to the side of her head, pulling her even closer to his side. 

They were all a little buzzed, and Wick greeted Clarke like he’d known her for her entire life. He added onto old stories about the boys and a few about Raven, who he’d dated at some point when they were teenagers. 

“Does every single person around here know each other?” Clarke asked, nibbling on a chip as she marveled at the group. With her family situation, she’d never lived anywhere long enough to have connections like this, people who knew her better than she knew herself. 

“I mean basically, there’s a slight divide based on whether you went to public or private school,” Miller said, slapping his boyfriend on the back. “Jackson here went to the fancy private school, so he didn’t mix with any of us. I had to go all the way to Clemson to meet his ass.” 

“A little dramatic, don’t we think?” Jackson sighed, a smile teasing the corner of his lips. 

“I mean, not really? It’s kind of true. But it’s not like Clarke is going to judge you. She looks like she went to private school too.” 

“Oh, Clarke definitely went to private school,” Bellamy added, poking her lightly on the cheek. “She’s a little princess.” 

He said it fondly, like he had before—and Clarke found she didn’t mind the nickname as much in this context. 

“So how exactly did our little country boy snag a princess?” Wick asked, eying the ring on her finger with a raised eyebrow. 

“He became a fucking surgeon,” Miller chuckled, clearly edging into drunk territory, but seeming proud of his best friend all the same. 

“The surgery thing was secondary to his terrible jokes. I like those the best,” Clarke added, tilting up to kiss his cheek. 

“She must really love you if she likes your jokes,” Wick said, slapping Bellamy on the shoulder. 

Bellamy stuttered for a beat, like he usually did when someone mentioned them being in love—but Clarke was pretty sure she was the only one who noticed. 

“I would hope she loves me, all things considered,” he laughed, turning their joint hands to flash her ridiculous ring from Etsy. 

His words sounded hollow, and Clarke hoped that it wasn’t obvious how much it bothered her. 

Thankfully, the conversation shifted to Miller asking about the wedding. Bellamy took over with the answers, allowing her a moment to get her shit together. 

She tuned out the conversation, let her mind wander to something less stressful. 

It worked, for the most part, the alcohol leaving her limbs pleasantly heavy, and she let herself just enjoy Bellamy’s proximity, the warmth of his body against hers. 

Once again, she was overthinking.

Deep breaths, like her therapist, told her, that would surely help. 

Clarke had almost neared the point of calm when she heard a question that dragged her back to reality. 

“So when’s the big day?” Wick asked, chugging the last of his beer and waving for another one. 

“We want it to be soon, but we just don’t know when exactly.” 

“How soon?” 

“I mean, we’re ready. It’s just a matter of finding the right time.” 

“Well, why not now? People pay an arm and a leg to get married at Old House Kane… and God knows your entire family is here for O’s birthday,” he continued, seemingly unaware of Bellamy’s stiffness while he barreled on. 

“He has a point. I bet Harper could help you plan everything. She’s so good at stuff like that,” Miller chimed in, perking up at the mention of another party. 

Bellamy, who only a few minutes ago had swung to her rescue, had all but frozen. It seemed his threshold for handling his family had been surpassed. 

“We’ll think about it,” Clarke said with a smile, firm but still light enough that it didn’t raise red flags. “What about you two? Any wedding bells in the future?” She asked, redirecting the conversation to Miller and Eric. 

If they noticed their discomfort, nobody acknowledged it. Miller seemed more than happy to complain about his boyfriend’s desire for a destination wedding in Thailand. 

For now, at least, the topic was laid to rest. 

***

  
Sunlight bathed the beach, a peachy hue masking everything around them as Bellamy and Clarke leaned back in the sand, a box of pizza in front of them. 

It was the first time they had been alone, truly alone, with nobody else in earshot, since they first agreed to do this. 

And Clarke didn’t really know what to do with herself or what to say. All her feelings and confusion were simmering in the back of her thoughts, making it hard to think. 

In what was truly a short expanse of time, she’d come to care about Bellamy in a way she hadn’t expected—and it scared the hell out of her. 

It was more than just attraction too. She liked talking to him, spending time with him, being around his family, who were absolutely insane but full of life. 

At the risk of sounding like a Bachelor contestant, she was starting to fall in love with him. 

But that wasn’t part of the agreement. 

And looking at the horizon made it easier to ignore than when she was looking directly at him. 

They ate together quietly, watching the waves ebb and flow, sharing a giant bottle of water to flush out some of the beer they’d had earlier. 

“Are you okay?” Bellamy asked, lying back in the sand after he finished his last slice. “Today was—well, a lot. And I would totally understand if you’re overwhelmed or turned off or whatever.” 

“Bellamy, I told you that they’re great. Seriously, crazy stuff happens sometimes...it’s life,” she shrugged, shoving down the urge to tell him that after what her mom put her through, today was just another blip on the radar. “Stop worrying about me, I’m a big girl.” 

“I know, but then the whole thing with Wick and Miller and the wedding,” Bellamy sighed, turning on his side, head cradled in his palm. The sunset illuminated him from behind, bathing him in a warm glow that made his skin look like it was tinged with gold. 

All Clarke wanted to do is reach out and cup his jaw, kiss him and pretend like they didn’t have to talk about the logistics of their fake relationship. 

Hell—if the fakeness of what they were doing never came up again, she would be okay with that. 

Clarke knew her reaction didn’t make sense. This had always been the plan. A fake marriage required just that, a wedding.

So why did the notion bother her all of a sudden?

Deep down, she knew the answer to her own question, the reason why she’d panicked the way she had. 

But the idea of it alone made her feel sick. 

Marrying Bellamy, knowing that it was all a scam, that he didn’t care about her like that, that it was all a show—it stung. He’d made it clear time and time again that this was just an agreement to him, that the sex was a convenience but didn’t actually mean anything. Right now, she could ignore it, could pretend like they were normal. But once the marriage certificate was signed, it wouldn’t be that easy. 

After years of being by herself, she’d finally found someone who made her feel like she was a part of something again, and there was nothing she actually could do about it. 

“Wick has—well, actually nobody who lives here understands boundaries. We don’t have to get married here,” Bellamy continued, reaching out to stroke her cheek with his thumb. 

And Clarke wanted to just tell him the truth, that she didn’t want to do this anymore, didn’t want to pretend. 

But that wasn’t their plan. It never had been. 

It wouldn’t be fair to put him in that position. Not when they had so much to lose, when he’d put his reputation on the line for her. 

So instead, she changed the subject. 

“I had an interesting conversation with Marcus,” she said, lying down beside him and turning to meet his gaze, a decision she immediately regretted when he gave her a lopsided smile. 

“He means well, but he can come off as kind of severe. Was he nice?” 

“Oh no, it wasn’t anything like that…” 

She didn’t quite know how to articulate it, the undertone of the conversation, the way he’d alluded to Australia, asked her about her family, her mom. 

“It felt like he knew something about me that he didn’t want to say…”

“Like about us?” Bellamy asked, leaning in even closer, concern replacing his boyish smile. 

The pit returned in Clarke’s stomach, guilt, that she’d put him in the position to lie to his family. 

“No, like about me—“ she began, but paused when she noticed his shoulders tense. 

She stopped mid-sentence as Bellamy blanched, bracing his hand on her bicep as he continued to look at something over her shoulder. 

And then he leaned forward and kissed her, closing the already small distance between them. 

It wasn’t a romantic gesture, and the suddenness of it caught her off guard before she realized he was trying to shut her up. 

His lips pulled away from hers slowly, his teeth lingering on her bottom lip and then moving to scrape her jaw and work down to her neck. She turned onto her back, allowing him to pin her hands over her head. The whole thing was sudden and strange—and it made Clarke worried that he’d seen something she hadn’t. 

He nipped her earlobe and murmured so softly that she could barely hear, his voice rumbling through her skin. 

“Ontari is behind us, not close, but it’s definitely her.” 

It was enough to shock Clarke out of the conversation. Her suspicions about Marcus and any doubts she had about their scheme faded away. This was real, and if they didn’t get their act together, they would both go to jail. 

They were in too deep to turn back now, feelings or not. 

“What do we do?” She whispered, suddenly hyper-aware of their movements. 

“When did you go soft on me, Griffin?” He teased, kissing back up her neck and catching her lips. “You’re supposed to be the mastermind here.” 

And he was right, but her brain didn’t seem to get the memo. All she wanted to do is lace her fingers through Bellamy's hair and sink into the kiss, so she did. 

It would buy them some time, and this was what newly engaged couples were supposed to do anyway. It also distracted her from how bad their situation had become in a matter of two minutes. 

If Ontari had gone through the trouble of traveling all the way from Boston, they were in deep shit. It meant that she hadn’t bought their act even a little, which probably hadn’t been helped by Clarke’s open antagonism. Even now, the woman’s presence annoyed her deeply.

Why was she here? Why did she have to come and ruin everything? 

Immigration on their asses was a very real reminder that this wasn’t supposed to be fun, and it definitely wasn’t real. 

“I think we should listen to Wick,” she murmured, barely pulling away from the kiss, more than a little satisfied that Bellamy looked dazed. “How fast do you think we can plan a wedding?” 

***

  
Bellamy didn’t sleep much, just held Clarke in his arms and stared up at the ceiling. 

He’d never felt so conflicted in his entire life. 

On the one hand, there was so much potential between them, a chance to have something real. In all his relationships, Bellamy never felt as in tune with someone as he did with Clarke. But truly, nothing they shared this weekend was real—not really anyway. He knew how dangerous leaning into his feelings was, how easily it would complicate things. 

Seeing Ontari had been a cold ice bath back to reality, a stark contrast from the familiar warmth they’d fallen into. 

And now he didn’t know what was real and what was fake. Did Clarke really care about him the way he cared about her, did she feel the connection too, or was she just going according to their plan? 

It was impossible to know for sure and even more impossible to ask. 

Bellamy needed to keep his head straight, focus on getting out of legal trouble, and keep his feelings out of the equation. 

Even if that felt easier said than done. 

Clarke shifted in her sleep, turning into his chest and burrowing in. 

Despite what he’d just told himself, Bellamy carefully brushed the stray hairs off her forehead and left a kiss in their place. He lingered for a moment, knowing deep down that he was in over his head. 

Bellamy carefully eased out of bed with a final look down at the woman sleeping in his arms. He grabbed the gift bag he’d set out for Octavia on the dresser, careful not to step on the creaky floorboard before he left the room, closing the door softly behind him. 

Creeping around the Kane house in the dark reminded him of coming home from college for breaks, of sneaking out to joyride in Murphy’s old broken down truck and jump in the river. 

So much had changed since then, but this house always stayed the same. 

Octavia was already waiting on the front porch, a thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders despite the relatively warm night. 

“Happy birthday, kid,” he said quietly, setting the bag in her lap as he sat beside her. 

Before Marcus or Old House Kane or anyone else, it had just been Bellamy and Octavia. They’d spent every birthday together since the day his sister came into the world. Even when he was deployed, they’d celebrated over Skype. 

It was an important tradition, one of their only real family traditions for just the two of them and more than the party. This was why Bellamy made the drive back here once a year to celebrate. 

“Well, this doesn’t make me feel old at all,” Octavia chuckled, removing a T-shirt with a screen print of her baby picture on it. 

“I figured you would like it,” he teased, wrapping an arm around his sister and hugging her, wishing that he could tell her the truth about the state of his life. “Happy birthday.” 

It was exactly midnight, thirty years from the day Octavia came into the world. 

For a while, he’d tried to add a sappy speech to this tradition, to convey his love for his little sister. But it usually just dampened the mood and made them both cry—so now he knew to keep things light. 

And considering what happened earlier, the last thing they needed was more emotional turmoil. 

“I needed this after today,” she sighed, leaning her head onto his shoulder, the weight of the day evident in her voice. 

They stayed like that for a while, staring out at the bright green lawn, the trees, and the soft whoosh of the ocean. 

“I wish you’d move home…” Octavia sighed, holding the shirt to her chest. “All of you. Even Murphy, jackass that he is.” 

Bellamy snorted, knowing that this island could never be his home again, even if he wanted to. It would be too hard to keep the charade going, to lie for the next two to three years. Not to mention that he would hopefully be getting the job of his dreams soon—as per his and Clarke’s agreement. 

Hilton Head and Old House Kane were home, but it wasn’t where he belonged anymore. 

“I miss you too. You should come to visit me more.” 

“You know how I feel about the cold.” 

“Boston has summer too.” 

“It’s not the same.” 

“You just don’t like cities...”

“I don’t. They’re dirty,” Octavia teased, hugging him once more before she edged away and fished through the gift bag for the candy he always left at the bottom. 

“That’s part of the charm. Plus, could you imagine Clarke living here? I can’t,” he added, knowing it was the truth. 

There was a quiet pause as Octavia unwrapped a Reese’s cup and threw a Snickers at him. 

“Yeah, she’s growing on me...but she’s definitely not a small town kind of person.” 

“That’s high praise coming from you.” 

“I never had a problem with her. I had a problem with my brother being a big fat liar.” 

And well, he couldn’t exactly say that wasn’t true. If anything, he was about to be an even bigger liar. 

“I’m sorry. I should have told you, but it’s a weird situation,” he continued, hoping his apology would be enough. 

“You’re forgiven as long as you invite me to the wedding,” she said, shoving his shoulder. “And you let Sophie be the flower girl.” 

Bellamy knew this was his chance to tell her their plan, that the wedding would be sooner rather than later. But springing things on his sister had never bode well in the past. He needed to ease into it, maybe even convince her that it was her idea. 

“You’re not going to believe this, but we talked to Wick today, and he said we should—that Clarke and I...should get married here. Like next week,” he said carefully, trying to keep his tone casual. 

“I mean, that’s not a terrible idea. You know how hard it is to get everyone here.” 

“It’s kind of short notice.” 

“We have weddings here all the time. I’m sure Indra could pull some strings, and Harper can take care of the rest,” Octavia continued, voice ramping up with excitement as she started to list off all the things they could do. 

Bellamy let her talk for a while, knowing she loved this kind of excitement. He felt a little guilty that he’d planned the better part of this conversation before it happened, but what his sister didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. 

“Okay, enough about the wedding. It’s your birthday after all,” he said, grateful that Octavia didn’t seem upset about having a wedding a few days after her own party. 

“Can’t I be excited? My big brother is getting married!!” Octavia exclaimed, hugging Bellamy again and continuing her ramblings about a bachelorette party. 

It seemed that whether he was ready or not, Bellamy was getting married to Clarke in a matter of a few days. 

***

From the moment they woke up, the day was saturated with Octavia’s birthday party and the related activities. A staff had appeared out of thin air, reminding Clarke of the huge Gatsby-Esque parties her parents used to throw for their friends, complete with a long family-style table in the backyard. 

She kind of loved the buzz of it, the massive spread of bagels laid out on the kitchen counter to keep them out of Indra’s hair, the messy pancakes that were clearly made by Sophie and Jordan. 

“Who’s ready for the best day ever?” Octavia exclaimed, throwing a towel over her shoulder as they finished up their breakfast, and a slew of white-shirted men whisked their plates away. 

Clarke waited for Bellamy to help the butler load the plates into his arms, until they were the last people left inside the house. 

“It uh—makes me kind of uncomfortable,” he explained, blushing a little as he gestured toward the flurry of staff. “Octavia is more used to it since she grew up here, but I just don't like people doing things for me.” 

She nodded, taking his hand as they followed everyone else out to the water and debated whether or not to tell him about her childhood. 

“I grew up with a lot of people in my house who—were there to help,” she explained, deciding that a small detail couldn’t hurt. “And it still makes me a little uncomfortable.” 

Bellamy nodded, pulling her a breath closer and tucking her under his arm. As per their agreement, he didn’t probe further, but Clarke could tell he wanted to. 

And to her surprise, she kind of wanted him to. Something about being around a family, made her want to talk about her own. Maybe the looming milestone was making her sentimental, or perhaps she was coming to terms with the fact that she couldn’t hide her past from her husband forever. 

Like it or not, real or fake, Bellamy would be her partner for the next few years, and it didn’t feel right that Murphy knew more about her than he did. 

But it didn’t feel like the right time to tell him, not when Monty and Lincoln were lining up jet skis for them to use. 

“I swear we aren’t the real-life version of the Beverly Hillbillies,” Bellamy whispered with a soft laugh, pressing a soft kiss to Clarke’s cheek, one that felt almost too gentle for the circumstance before he stepped away to help corral the last of the jet skis. 

Despite her fiancé’s constant apologies, Clarke liked this family. They were loud and crazy, and they loved each other a little too much, but it was the kind of thing that she’d always dreamed of as a lonely only child. Everything about this weekend, even the bad stuff, hadn’t really been that bad. 

And it was starting to feel like they liked her too with Monty helping her with her life jacket and Emori stopping to take a photo together on the dock. There was a level of guilt, that she wasn’t lying to strangers anymore. These were real people she had come to care about. 

Clarke couldn’t even begin to fathom the kind of guilt Bellamy was dealing with. 

“You ready?” He asked, climbing onto the nearest jet ski and waving for her to join him. 

Clarke fitted herself in front of Bellamy with the help of Lincoln, nudging back until her back hit his bare chest. There was a layer of life jacket in the way, but when he propped his chin on the curve of her shoulder, a flurry of butterflies fluttered in her stomach. 

Lately, she’d been feeling more like a middle schooler than a full-grown adult with the soft touches and warm syrupy feeling in her stomach. 

“Don’t let me fall, okay?” She murmured, leaning back, so her lips brushed the light stubble on Bellamy’s jawline. 

“If I recall correctly, you’re an excellent swimmer,” he teased, revving the engine to life and flashing her a playful wink before they dashed into the open water, following the lead of the others 

The jet skis felt like flying, cutting through the humid salty air of the marshy water. They passed boats blasting loud music, full of people drinking and laughing and cheering for no reason. 

Hilton Head was nothing like Boston, but Clarke kind of preferred it that way. After years in the city, it felt good to slow down and bask in the sun, to taste the spray of the ocean on her lips, and feel the light breeze of a summer morning. 

For the first time since she was a little girl, Clarke giggled as Bellamy steered them through the water, picking up speed as they moved. He purposely turned sharply, splashing them both along with whoever happened to be in their range. As they slowed, coming to a halt in the dead center of reed-filled water, she let herself relax into the embrace, enjoying the closeness of a man whose company she’d come to enjoy more than she ever thought possible. 

This version of herself, the fun, carefree person, was something that Clarke thought died a long time ago, and having it back again was a gift, a gift she owed entirely to Bellamy. 

Not wanting to hold back any joy at the moment, she turned and kissed him, probably with more force than she intended based on the way he braced himself back. But he responded just as enthusiastically, cupping her cheeks in his palms, holding her close despite the slip of the water on their skin. 

She so desperately wanted to tell him that everything felt better when he was around, that she wanted this to be real—but of course, she couldn’t. 

Instead, Clarke pulled away with three careful pecks to his lips, situating herself back into the cradle of his legs. 

“This reminds me so much of home,” she said, suddenly nostalgic for her childhood afternoons learning how to sail with Wells. “In a good way.” 

His arms wrapped around her torso, not quite hugging her, just holding her as she talked about Australia, about how the ocean always felt like home. 

If she caught him off guard, he didn’t show it. He asked the right questions, didn’t probe, just listened. And Clarke wondered why she’d been so scared to open up, to tell him about herself—because truthfully, he understood what it meant to have memories tinted by grief. 

She was still scared, but for a different reason this time. Her fake husband was everything Clarke had ever wanted in a real husband. 

***

  
Mornings in the sun always ended with burnt cheeks, and the pleasant heavy limbed joy of eating a turkey sandwich in your bathing suit. 

After what felt like an endless parade of stress, Bellamy finally felt the joy he’d come to associate with the island and with home. 

And to his surprise, sharing it all with Clarke, having her tucked into his chest for the better part of the day—made everything better. 

She had a light dusting of freckles on her cheeks from the sun, the bridge of her nose tinged a light pink, but she looked relaxed and happy. Lately, she’d seemed happy more often than not, and Bellamy felt a small sense of pride that he’d had something to do with it. 

This version of Clarke, the one that didn’t constantly seem on guard, felt like someone he wanted to spend his life with, someone he could see himself building a life with. 

He needed a shower, needed to wash off the thin layer of salt that sat on his skin, but he desperately didn’t want to leave her. 

Not even for a handful of minutes. 

“C’mon,” he urged, lacing their fingers together and tugging her toward the bathroom once the door was securely closed. 

They were both too tired for anything sexual, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t just exist together, that he couldn’t make the morning last a little bit longer. 

With a crooked smile, he turned both of the taps at the front of the clawfoot tub that he’d never bothered to use before searching under the cabinets for the gift basket of crap that Indra kept for guests. 

By the time he’d found it, Clarke was already undressed and dipping her toe in the water to test the temperature. 

“Bubble bath, this weird bath bomb thing, or this salt that smells like coconut frosting?” He asked, holding up an array of bottles, all labeled with the Kane products logo. 

“Why not all three?” She shrugged, adjusting one of the knobs to fix the water. 

And he wasn’t one to argue, so Bellamy dumped all three in the water and stepped out of his own swim trunks. 

As the bathwater turned a shimmery blue and began to fill with pearlescent bubbles, they shared a look, like neither of them really thought they would get this far. Which kind of felt like the theme of their entire—could they call it a relationship?—their whole dynamic. 

Clarke sunk into the water with a shrug, leaving enough room for him to sit across from her or behind her. 

And since they were beyond the point of formality, Bellamy slotted himself behind her, adjusting his knees so she could lean against his chest. 

There were so many things he wanted to say, especially after today. 

But they were already toeing the line, and Bellamy didn’t know how much further he could go before he crossed it. 

He knew that talking about her past was a big deal. It was a massive step of vulnerability for her, and he wanted to respect the gesture of it and didn’t want to turn this into sex.

Not yet anyway. 

Apparently, Clarke felt the same way because she just tucked her face into the crook of his neck and closed her eyes. 

“What was your favorite birthday?” She asked, running her hands up and down the side of his thighs, eyes still closed. 

Bellamy kissed her temple, raking through his memories for something that felt right. There were a few to choose from, birthdays from his childhood with homemade cake and elaborate LEGGO sets, or one from a high school when Marcus tried his best to make things feel normal. But all of them were tinged with the grey from all his pre-adult memories, the vague stress he’d felt about keeping his family afloat. 

“My twenty seventh,” he said, wondering how much he should explain. “I got my first med school acceptance the week before, and I hadn’t told anyone I was even thinking about applying. When I told everyone, Kane was so happy he took us all to this cheesy Disney resort on the main Hilton Head island. I got a Mickey shaped waffle. It was a great day.” 

He left out how he and Murphy used to sneak into the resort when they were kids, mess around, pretend to be guests, and weasel their way into free Mickey bars. Going there as an average person, as someone who belonged there—it felt like a full-circle moment. 

That med school acceptance was the first guarantee that he’d be able to give his kids the life he’d never been able to have. Without anyone’s help, just on the back of his own hard work. 

And even though he knew he shouldn’t, Bellamy let himself indulge in the fantasy of having kids with Clarke. Of sinking into baths like this after long days and taking their kids to Disney world and teaching them dumb songs about the human body. 

There was potential for them to be happy, for all this to be real—but Bellamy didn’t know how to bring any of that up. Not when he didn’t know how she felt. If he confessed his feelings and she didn’t feel the same way, it would make for a very awkward marriage. 

So he pushed it down, out of his thoughts, trying to keep himself in the realm of reality. 

Bellamy knew this was the part where he was supposed to ask her the same question in return, but his brain had drifted elsewhere. To a place, he knew he shouldn’t be lingering, but he couldn’t stop the question from tumbling out. 

“Do you want kids someday?” He asked, knowing that it could very well end the longest stretch they’d ever gone without fighting. 

Clarke didn’t look surprised, though, waiting until the water refilled before she answered, leaning back against the edge of the tub and tangling their legs together. 

“When I was younger, I wanted a huge family so my kids could have lots of siblings. But I chose a career that never really let that be possible, and honestly, I never met anyone who felt like the father of my children,” she shrugged, playing with the bubbles pooling around her chest. “Now that I’m older, I don’t know—it just feels like a fantasy at this point. I thought about adopting on my own right before all this...but uhh, obviously that can’t happen anymore.” 

Her dreams echoed his own, a big family with lots of kids, plenty of love to go around. Growing up without that, finding it later in life, Bellamy knew how meaningful her words were. Unlike him, Clarke never found her family, and she’d wanted to build her own. 

He wanted to tell her that he could give her that, that he wanted the same things she did. He’d thought about adopting, too, of helping kids find their family like he did. They could do it together, make a real family. 

But it wasn’t really his place, even if he desperately wanted it to be, and it didn’t exactly feel realistic either. 

Bellamy would be her husband, but he wouldn’t be the father of her children. They wouldn’t share those milestones together, and he had to stop pretending like they would. 

Part of him did wonder whether Clarke saw that possibility in him, too, even if he’d never be able to ask her. 

He’d never be able to ask her because there was a giant wall in the middle of all their interactions, and Bellamy was so frustrated by the whole thing he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

***

Clarke could tell Bellamy was on edge, even though she didn’t know why. 

She’d thought they’d had a good day. A warm, sun-soaked morning, a soak in the tub, and a nice nap before dinner. 

And Miller had been right. Old House Kane knew how to throw a party. 

The backyard looked like something out of an Instagram ad, complete with a fully stocked bar and multiple trays of wandering appetizers. 

Most of the guests had arrived by the time they made their way down, and Bellamy was quickly dragged away to mingle with older people who were fawning over him. 

Clarke didn’t really mind, and she made a beeline for the bar, ordering herself a drink, so she had something to do with her hands. From across the yard, she could see Marcus coming toward her or at least toward the bar. 

She still hadn’t had the chance to tell Bellamy about their conversation and didn’t want to risk being asked something she didn’t want to answer. 

Before Marcus could get any close, Clarke grabbed an extra drink and went to find Emori and Murphy. After their conversation on the beach, they seemed like a safe bet for an easy escape. 

Murphy seemed significantly less broody, apparently over the argument from the day before. 

“You seem to be faring much better,” Clarke said, handing the extra drink to Murphy when she realized Emori already had a glass of wine in hand. 

“Yeah, I was having a moment,” he shrugged, finishing half the glass in one sip, and Clarke knew not to push it any further than that. 

“We are dealing with it,” Emori agreed, nudging her boyfriend sharply in the side. “But uhh, we heard you have some exciting news? We asked for the rest of the week off so we can stay for the wedding.” 

They talked about the wedding, and Clarke asked Emori if she’d like to be a bridesmaid. Sad as it was, this friendship was one of the only connections she had outside of work. 

Being surrounded by people who’d turned friendship into a family made her regret the way she’d pushed people away since college. Having a chance now to get to know someone she’d spent five years working with, even under false pretenses, felt like a second go at making a real friend. 

She was tired of being lonely and being alone. Having someone by her side was nice, and having people to find in a room, people who wanted her to stand with them, was something Clarke never thought she would have again. 

When Bellamy returned to her side with a small plate of food in each hand and handed one off to her, she could feel the wheels turning in her heart. Her feelings for him were not going anywhere, and the more she thought about it, the more okay she became with the idea of spending the rest of her life with him. 

A small part of Clarke wondered whether she’d known this all along, if she’d subconsciously asked Bellamy for his help in all this because she knew he was what she’d always been looking for. 

She wished she could turn back time, all the way around to when they’d first met, and kick herself for ruining everything. It would have been so easy to have been nice to him, to have leaned into that initial spark. Instead, she pushed him away, like she did with everyone else. 

Now all she had were a handful of repressed feelings and a wedding to someone who thought of her as a friend. 

Being around people who let themselves love, despite their pasts, left Clarke with many regrets, some of which she didn’t feel ready to face. She didn’t want to live without people to lean on anymore. 

As Bellamy placed a gentle hand at the small of her back and guided her to her place at the table, Clarke knew undeniably that she was in love with him and maybe—she always had been. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been...anxious and off my game lately, which has made writing kind of tough because I never want to put out work that isn't my best. I've gotten a few...less that kind messages on Tumblr lately that have really made me want to take my time before putting work out. In light of all these things, this story has taken a while to find its ground but I think it's finally on the track I want it to be. I added two more chapters because I do think the wrap up for this will be kind of complicated. I hope y'all like it because I had fun writing this one :) 
> 
> I hope you all are doing well, I know it's a tough time to be a human and you're all stronger than you think you are. Be well, be kind, you are loved by more than one person out there! 
> 
> Please leave your thoughts if you have any, I love hearing from all of you so much, it means the world to me. Much love to each and every one of you, if you ever need me, please feel free to reach out. :)


	10. The calm before...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to take a moment to thank every single one of you for really picking me up when I was down. I cannot begin to express how grateful I am for you all and how much it meant to hear from you. Getting hate is always hard but the mean comment was outnumbered by so many incredible, kind ones. Thank you and I love you <3 This chapter is dedicated to y'all, you reminded me why I do this and it's because I love sharing my work with all of you.

When Clarke was in primary school, her favorite teacher got married. She invited the whole class, reserved a row of pews in the middle of the church for them, and as a surprise, the music teacher taught them all a song to sing at the reception. 

That wedding still stood out in her mind as a perfect day. 

In hindsight, it couldn’t have been more simple. The wedding was in an old family church, with the reception in a cramped backyard packed with family members, friends, and eighteen third graders. They’d eaten hamburgers off the grill, and her teacher had danced with each and every guest. 

She’d always thought that if she got married, she wanted something exactly like that. 

For years, she made Wells put on his church suit and pretend to get married in the backyard with her dog as the witness. 

But that was a long time ago, before she became disillusioned with the idea of marriage entirely, before her parents’ love story ended with her dad in jail. Her mom had had another great love all along, one she spent the last year of her life chasing, even though she was barely coherent enough to remember Clarke’s name. 

As a teenager, Clarke realized that there was no such thing as a perfect love story and that soulmates might not exist after all. 

Her only real adult relationship had ended in a cheating scandal of her own, and it just fueled the fire. 

But maybe, she’d been a bit too hasty. 

Being alone was well—lonely. 

Clarke had forgotten what it felt like to have someone by her side, someone she could unpack her days with or tell jokes to, someone who knew what she was about to say before she said it. 

Soulmates still seemed out of the realm of possibility, but functional relationships weren’t as hard to come by as she’d thought. 

In Bellamy’s family, it seemed more like the norm than rare. 

Octavia and her husband were always silently communicating, raised eyebrows and half-smiles, like they were continually talking even when they weren’t. 

Harper and Monty had inside jokes for every occasion. They were always laughing about something that nobody else seemed able to understand or comparing notes about an interesting leaf or rock. 

And Murphy and Emori balanced each other out, with a push and pull that centered them both. They gave off the impression that there was more below the surface than met the eye, but neither seemed keen to reveal what that was. 

Between all the couples that seemed to work on a level that Clarke didn’t really understand, she wondered what people thought of her and Bellamy, whether they could sense the underlying tension of their shared lies. 

The curiosity got the best of her when she finally got a moment alone with Emori, sitting at a table in a bakery while Octavia harped at a guy behind the counter. 

“I’m like trying to get a grasp on this wedding theme, and I just can’t find something that fits us,” Clarke sighed, leaning back in her chair. “What describes Bellamy and me?” 

Not exactly smooth, but she’d hit her threshold on good lies. 

“It’s funny because if you asked me last week, I would have thought that you’d want a huge, perfectly planned, expensive wedding with gourmet catering,” Emori chuckled, pushing away a dry slice of lemon cake. “But you’re nothing like I thought.” 

“In your defense, I haven’t exactly been myself for the past five years,” Clarke admitted, articulating for the first time how much regret she felt. “I’m sorry if I was ever a bitch to you.” 

“You’ve more than made up for it,” Emori replied with a genuine smile. “But back to you and Bellamy. You guys are best friends. I feel like the simpler, the better, no-frills just something fun and low key.” 

Before Clarke could stop herself, she snorted in surprise. 

“I can’t remember the last time someone called me low key.” 

“Oh, you’re not. At all. And neither is Bellamy. The man is high strung. But together, you kind of are. I can see why you guys kept things a secret for so long. You’re completely different people when you’re together.” 

The answer to her question had been the opposite of what she’d been expecting. 

Best friends. 

And perhaps that’s what felt differently about this. She hadn't just found a romantic prospect in Bellamy. She’d found a friend. A best friend, something she hadn’t had since she lost Wells almost a decade ago. 

“I feel like a better version of myself when he’s around,” Clarke admitted, wrinkling her nose as she tasted the cake herself. 

And Emori smiled again, reaching across the table to take her hand. 

“That’s how I knew John was the one. It’s hard to find that,” she agreed, and it felt like an opening to get to know her better. “It’s what gets you through the hard stuff.” 

“You guys are great together,” Clarke said, thinking back on her observations of Murphy and Emori. 

There was a thick silence, punctuated by Octavia demanding different cake samples that didn’t taste like sandpaper. Apparently, she’d done Girl Scouts with the owner and wanted to speak to her directly. 

Emori played with her nail bed, looking back toward Octavia and then toward Clarke. She seemed like she had a lot weighing on her mind. 

“I guess you know enough of the story that it’s not a big deal, but please don’t tell any of this to Bellamy. What happens between the boys isn’t really my business,” she said, dropping her voice a bit lower. “But John is determined to find his mom because he has this idea that he’s going to show her how far he’s come. I keep calling it his Pretty Woman moment, which I know isn’t funny, but it’s pretty much my only way to cope with all this. He’s become kind of obsessed.” 

“I—“ 

“Yeah, I think it’s toxic too. But it’s John’s cross to bear, and I’m just trying to support him. I had shit parents too, but I want nothing to do with them, so I can’t exactly relate.” 

Clarke didn’t want to meddle, it wasn’t her place, but she did have insight into this particular flavor of hell. 

“It’s hard with drug-addicted parents,” she said, deciding that she owed it to Emori to at least be honest about something, plus she really wanted those two to make it. “They weren’t always that way, so you know they have the potential to be better. Chasing that past version of them is part of what makes it so complicated.” 

And for the first time, she saw the frustration in Emori’s eyes. She hated this for Murphy, that he’d fallen into the endless cycle of becoming obsessed with someone who would probably never give him that satisfaction he was looking for. 

If she could help it, Clarke didn’t want him to ruin his relationships the way he had. She was coming to realize that being alone by choice wasn’t all that she thought it was. 

“Is there a solution? Kane isn't budging on the whole thing.” 

“The only solution is between Kane and Murphy. There isn’t much else to it,” Clarke sighed, wishing she had a better answer. “But if you ever need someone to talk to. There’s no judgment from me.” 

There was a shift between them at that moment, a bond, and Clarke knew that at the end of this, she might not have Bellamy anymore, but she would have Emori. This was the kind of friendship she’d always been so scared of, a different kind than what she had with Bellamy, but equally important. 

***

  
“You bought that girl a lab-grown diamond?” Miller groaned, following Bellamy out onto the porch. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Her pinky nail costs more than my entire life…” 

Bellamy rolled his eyes, ignoring his best friend’s protest as he waited for the advice he’d asked for. He knew it was the truth, though, which is why he needed to get Clarke a better ring, even if he couldn’t really afford it. 

When they’d picked out the ring on Etsy, it’d been more of a necessity than anything, part of their ruse. But the idea of marrying Clarke with a piece of plastic on her finger didn’t feel right. 

Marrying Clarke at all under these circumstances didn’t feel right, but he’d made an agreement and a promise. He knew what would happen if he backed out now, and Clarke’s well-being was more important than his feelings. 

She’d opened up so much more, seemed so much happier than she’d been a few weeks ago. He couldn’t risk losing that or losing her. 

“So what do you think?” Bellamy asked, leaning on the side of the railing. “Should I go to Steven’s or Bell’s jewelry?” 

“Neither. You should go down to Charleston and get a designer one, but I get the feeling that’s too expensive even though you’re a surgeon.” 

“I’m a resident, not a real surgeon yet,” he corrected, knowing it didn’t really matter. Miller didn’t care about the semantics. 

“Well then, Mr. resident, I think we might need to check out the antique store. Maybe something vintage might work.” 

At this point, anything would be an improvement on the current one. 

A small part of him wanted to propose for real with the new ring, even if he knew he probably wouldn’t. But just in case, it had to be perfect—they would probably be in the antique store for the rest of the day. 

“It’ll be fun, and Jackson’s been wanting a new lamp, two birds one stone,” Miller shrugged, just as the porch door swung open and Kane appeared beside them with a mug of coffee cradled between his palms. 

He took a spot on the old wicker chair, sipping his coffee as he looked between the boys. 

“Why do you look so stressed?” Kane chuckled, nodding at Bellamy. “I haven’t seen you like this since you took the MCAT.” 

“Pre-wedding jitters,” Miller explained, holding up a stack of paper they’d been using to make plans. “Clarke’s ring isn’t exactly a rock if you catch my drift.” 

With a long sip from his mug, Kane leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself. 

“You want to get her a better ring?” 

“Yeah, we got engaged in—in a hurry, and I don’t know, I think she deserves something nicer,” Bellamy explained, trying to flatten his hair back down to something more presentable. 

“It’s important. She’ll be wearing it every day for the rest of her life,” Kane agreed, and it took all of Bellamy’s willpower not to cringe at the implication. 

As per their agreement, Clarke would not be wearing the ring for more than a handful of years. He wasn’t sure why this suddenly felt so important, but it did. 

Maybe if she had a real ring, this whole thing would feel less sickeningly fake, and Bellamy could pretend like he wasn’t lying to himself about his feelings. 

It was a very expensive distraction at best, but at least it would be a way for him to keep his cool for a while longer. 

“We’re planning on going to the antique store to see if we can find anything unique,” Miller continued, seemingly oblivious to Bellamy’s internal turmoil as he rambled on about how he was looking to revamp his living room. 

Bellamy tuned them out, mentally calculating how much he could spare on a ring without Clarke strangling him for wasting his savings. Because she would. Fake relationship or not, she struck him as the kind of person who carefully budgeted all her expenses and had a comfortable retirement fund. 

“When do you need the ring by?” Kane asked, shaking Bellamy out of his thoughts with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Did you choose a date?” 

“Yeah, we decided on Friday. The weather’s supposed to be nice, and it gives Indra enough time to plan.” 

“I think I can help. Just gimme a couple days, okay?” 

And the thought of Kane funneling money into their sham, even if it was to ease Bellamy’s heartache, didn’t sit right. 

He’d never felt very comfortable with taking money from Marcus, even if he was the father Bellamy never had. 

“I can’t take your money…” he argued, fixing Kane with his best stubborn stare. 

“Just trust me. It’ll be my wedding present to you. I’m glad to see you happy,” Kane replied with an equally stubborn expression. 

With one last firm pat to Bellamy’s shoulder, one that indicated this wasn’t up for discussion, he collected his coffee cup and disappeared back into the house, the wicked door swinging behind him. 

“Has he been weird lately, or is it just me?” Miller asked, clearly disappointed they wouldn’t be going antiquing. 

“It’s definitely not just you,” Bellamy agreed, sitting heavily in the nearest chair. 

He couldn’t quite place it, but Marcus was acting weird. Perhaps it had to do with Murphy’s mom? Or something none of them knew anything about. 

Whatever it was, things were not normal. 

***

  
Clarke found herself alone when she returned from the cake tasting with the girls. 

A sticky note stuck to the mirror read: “Went antiquing with Miller, Jackson wants a lamp xx Bellamy.” 

She couldn’t help but snort to herself. Bellamy always left these oddly specific notes in places, telling her his whereabouts and reminding her of random things. 

It was incredibly endearing, and she saved each one of them. She kept them tucked in her suitcase, unsure of what she would do with them all, but they were too cute to throw away. 

With the note tucked carefully with the others, she flopped back on the bed and watched the ceiling fan spin. This was the first time she’d been by herself since the day after they arrived. It should feel nice and relaxing—but it just felt weird. 

Clarke had grown accustomed to Bellamy’s presence, the comfort of always having someone to talk to and share things with. She wanted to tell him about the cake tasting, about how Octavia got into a fight with the shop boy until he ran down the street to get the owner, the horrible and dry lemon cake, and the amazing red velvet. And she also wanted to hear about his day in return. 

The implications of it scared her. She wasn’t supposed to get so attached quickly, but Clarke found she didn’t regret her feelings for him—only the circumstances surrounding them. 

With a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, she curled up in the window seat, staring at the sway of the palm trees in the wind. A storm was brewing, the telltale grey clouds filling the otherwise blue sky, leaving a sharp sting of cold in the humid air. 

Clarke had always liked storms, the clean smell of the earth that came with fresh rain. The prospect of the incoming storm felt apt considering her emotional turmoil. 

It didn’t feel right to marry him, knowing that she cared about him as more than a friend, knowing that they would never be able to have the kind of relationship she wanted. 

But it wasn’t as if she really had a choice, not really anyway. The lie was too far in now. They would both crash and burn if they tried to undo it now. Ontari would ruin them both as quickly as she could manage. 

Clarke was okay with destroying her own life, but she couldn’t do that to Bellamy. Not before his career even had a chance to get off the ground. 

The way she saw it now, there were two options—three really, but she didn’t want to face the ramifications of that just yet. Either she could tell Bellamy the truth and face the brutal pain of rejection, or she could hold it back and live knowing he would never love her like that. Of course, the third option was to burn herself to the ground, take the entire fall, and let him go. 

None of her choices seemed particularly appealing. 

Any way she looked at it, she would get hurt—and she would lose him. 

“Hey baby,” Bellamy’s voice called from the hallway, giving her a few moments of warning before he shouldered his way into the room with two to-go cups of coffee in hand. 

He’d fallen into the habit of solely addressing her as “baby,” even when they were alone. She didn’t exactly mind, but it did add a confusing layer of intimacy to their relationship. 

“Hey yourself, is that for me?” She grinned, pulling her legs in so he could sit across from her. 

“It is,” he smiled in return, curling into the seat and pressing his cold toes against hers. “I had quite the day with Miller. Hopefully, you like oat milk and praline.” 

She took a sip from the admittedly delicious latte and listened as Bellamy talked about antiquing. This was what she’d been missing, the comfort of debriefing at the end of a long day while rain trickled quietly against the window. 

“Did you find anything cool?” 

“Yeah, a few books. Antique textbooks, really cool stuff with hand-drawn diagrams,” he explained, eyes lighting up as he described how one of them had an out of date nephron diagram. 

He was perfect, and Clarke hated him a little for it. A

All these years, she’d convinced herself he was smug and arrogant and too cocky for his own good—but she’d been mostly wrong. 

Granted, Bellamy could be annoying when he wanted to and stubborn and kind of an asshole, but it was oddly endearing. 

And that was a first for Clarke, that she liked someone not despite their flaws but because of them. 

Unsure of what to do with herself and all the feelings sitting in her heart, she readjusted herself until she could settle in Bellamy’s lap. He didn’t even pause his story, just gathered her in his arms and pressed a kiss to her temple as he rambled about an ugly lamp that Jackson was going to hate. 

In return, she pushed a curl off his forehead, tucking his hair behind his ear as he spoke. 

“I’m talking a lot, sorry. How was your day?” he asked, eyes fluttering closed when her palm cupped his cheek, her thumb rubbing across his cheekbone.   
  
Clarke wanted to kiss him, to bury into his arms and stay there, but she also didn’t want to let go of this sweet, perfect moment. So she held back, let her hand linger on his cheek, and told him about the awful cake she tried and walking along the pier and Emori’s fries getting stolen by a pigeon. 

“My mom always called them sky rats—and well, it’s fitting,” she chuckled, thinking back to the way her mother always scorned the pigeons that gathered at the patio of her favorite restaurant. 

This time, it was Bellamy who tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, arms tightening just a fraction of an inch around Clarke’s torso. 

“You’ve never mentioned your mom before,” he said gently, not quite probing, but definitely curious. 

Clarke braced herself for the sharp recoil that never came, perhaps because she’d already talked about this once with Murphy or maybe because she knew she could trust Bellamy—her first instinct wasn’t to push him away. 

If she was going to tell him about her past, now was as good of a time as any. 

***

  
Bellamy wondered how he’d spent so many years around Clarke, sharing operating tools, bickering over cases, standing in line for coffee, and never realized how similar they actually were. 

He’d always focused on their differences, Clarke’s privilege, and attitude, the color of his skin, his family’s background. But really—they’d both been hiding so much, all while carrying similar burdens. 

He thought Clarke’s might be worse in some ways, only because it was so much lonelier. Even if his family drove him crazy, Bellamy always had people to lean on. 

She’d managed everything by herself. 

It made him want to keep her as close as possible, to make sure she never felt alone again—even though he knew she didn’t really want him to. 

As they jogged side by side, the sound of their footfalls filling Bellamy’s brain, his thoughts swirled with what a complicated mess this all was. 

Knowing Clarke’s background, understanding her family a bit better, he felt like an asshole for forcing his huge and obnoxious patchwork family on her. She’d probably spent the whole week feeling alone and isolated while he was busy swooning over her. 

He couldn’t ruin this for her, couldn’t let her lose the one thing that kept her going all this time—her career. 

Even if it killed a small piece of his heart, he couldn’t tell her. 

Bellamy wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt like this about a romantic prospect before, like Clarke’s well-being mattered more than anything else. Of course, he felt the same about Octavia and the rest of his family, but this was different. He wanted to shield Clarke from everything that had gone wrong in her life, to block out Ontari and immigration and the rest of the nonsense—to be her rock. 

But Clarke was her own rock. She didn’t need him. 

He needed her, though, more than he’d thought he ever would. And what killed him the most was that he didn’t think she knew that. 

And there was no right way to tell her. 

They neared the house, both panting and collapsed on the dock. 

“I’m getting spoiled with all this good weather,” Clarke said in between breaths, undoing her ponytail as the breeze hit her face. 

Even though every logical inch of Bellamy’s brain knew they could never live here—he still wanted to offer the idea of moving here, just for the laugh he knew it would elicit. 

He really had it bad. 

If they kept lying here like this, in the afternoon sun with the warm breeze, he would definitely say something stupid. 

So instead of approaching the idea of addressing his feelings, Bellamy pulled Clarke back up. 

“Might as well enjoy the weather then?” He grinned, peeling off his shirt and gesturing for her to do the same. 

She gave him a confused look, but he just stripped down to his compression shorts and gestures to the water. 

“Are you serious?” 

“It’ll feel amazing, I promise.” 

“If your sister makes us take engagement pictures and my hair looks like uncooked Ramen...it’s on you. Just remember that,” Clarke teased, tossing her shirt with his clothes and peeling off her leggings. 

“I’ll tell the grandkids it was my fault. I promise,” he chuckled, not realizing what he was saying before the words were already out. 

But Clarke just laughed, reaching out to lacing their fingers as she dragged him to the end of the dock. 

They dove into the sun-warmed water, and when they emerged, Clarke wrapped her arms around his shoulders. 

“We could live here. In another life maybe,” he chuckled, letting himself indulge in the fantasy of it as he held her against his side. The conversation with Octavia was still fresh, and he was feeling bold after he got away with the grandkids comment. 

“Just leave it all behind, the winters, the stress, the crowds,” Clarke murmured, eyes closed as the sun shone on her face. “It wouldn’t be glamorous. But it would be nice.” 

Bellamy barely masked his shock. He couldn’t believe she didn’t freak out on him, didn’t correct him that they had lives to live and jobs to do. 

“A small clinic, a house on the beach, the occasional consultation.” 

“I could buy you some of those heinous Tommy Bahama shirts,” she teased, smoothing a curl behind his ear. 

And he laughed, because Marcus loved those shirts more than anything. It was quintessential island dad clothing. 

“We’d have to get you a jeep too…” 

“Tons of room for our tennis and golf equipment. We would have to join the club.” 

Bellamy had never ever daydreamed about moving home. No matter how much he missed his family, it just never seemed possible. But right now, this fake life they were crafting sounded like a dream. He’d never seen himself as the kind of person to return to his hometown and raise his kids on the shores—but he was starting to find that every version of life sounded better for the two of them than it did for just himself. 

“If you’re not careful, I’m going to turn into a clone of Kane, dad jokes, quirky ties and all,” he warned, giving Clarke a salt-tinged kiss. 

“I used to think settling down like that was a nightmare, but I don’t know...it does seem kind of peaceful. I’m just so tired,” she admitted, letting her head rest in the crook of his shoulder. Bellamy wondered if she’d ever admitted that to anyone before, if she’d even admitted it to herself. 

They were already toeing the line, and he knew that offering this life for real, even if he couldn’t actually do it, would break the moment.

But he wanted to. He wanted to so badly that he could feel his heart withering in his chest with the words he couldn’t say. 

“I think when you’re a kid, stability seems like a given. I never had it, but I thought that everyone else just had it automatically. But it’s a lot more work than it seems,” he said, letting some of his own worries and fears seep through too. “Peaceful isn’t bad. In fact, it’s kind of a miracle.” 

Finding someone who made you feel at peace was so incredibly rare. Bellamy knew that. His mom never found it. Marcus had apparently had it and lost it. And now he was going to be one of the tragic people too, someone who found a person who made him feel safe and at home, but circumstance made it so that she would never know how he actually felt. 

Part of him wanted to blow it all up despite his reservations. He could just tell her the truth and take the ring from Marcus and propose for real because he knew that he would never feel like this about someone again. 

Logically, he knew it was a bad idea but—having something with Clarke for real, felt like it might be worth the risk. 

Worst case, they would still get married, and he would have to get over it, and it would be awkward. But at least then, he would know for sure that she didn’t love him back. It wouldn’t ruin their plan, not really anyway. The way he was starting to see it, the plan had been destroyed the moment the boat pulled into the dock. 

Because he was in love with Clarke, painfully and hopelessly in love with her, and if he didn’t tell her before the wedding, he would regret it for the rest of his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN?!? WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN NEXT? It's not gonna be very fun (well it will be for me haha). 
> 
> The next two chapters will be the same series of events from Bellamy and Clarke's respective perspectives. I'm not sure which one I'm going to post first but they will be posted close together. I'm really excited for y'all to see the climax! 
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who sent such lovely messages to me after the last chapter, it really was so appreciated. I always love getting to know y'all and talking to you!! Please always let me know what you think :) 
> 
> Much love, you are so important and your place in this world matters! Take care, be well <3


	11. Part 1: Clarke's Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Winces* Sorry guys...

_Murphy_

“John…” Emori mumbled, reaching out to pat the empty space he’d just left behind. 

“Just getting water,” he replied, kissing her temple before he slipped out of the room. 

It was a lie. He couldn’t sleep—but he knew that Emori, despite her efforts to hide it, was getting sick of his antics. 

He knew this obsession with finding his mom was futile, but he wanted closure. 

Murphy spent his entire life being furious at his mom, feeling hurt and rejected and lost. She’d abandoned him when he needed her, and the more time he spent getting over that, the more he needed her to know that he’d succeeded despite her. 

It was vengeful and a little unhealthy. His therapist told him that, and so did Bellamy. 

But Kane knew where she was or what happened to her, and until Murphy found out, he couldn’t bring himself to let it go. 

Emori tried to level with him. She’d had shitty parents too, and Murphy admired the way she’d let go of that without residual anger. But he wasn’t as strong as she was. He had too much resentment built in his soul for that. 

Trying not to step on the creaky floorboards, Murphy carefully made his way downstairs. Sitting out on the porch always seemed to help him calm down. 

Since Bellamy dragged him here as an angry teenager, this has always been his ritual, leaning over the railing and listening to the ocean crash against the shore. 

Despite his recent behavior, he did love Kane, and he knew that deep down, he thought he was doing the right thing. 

But Kane couldn’t protect them forever. He had to let them make their own choices, their own mistakes. Murphy wasn't a vengeful teenager anymore. He was an adult with a promising career and a girlfriend he loved, and an apartment. He would be able to give his kids everything he’d never had. 

Content or not, though, he needed closure. He couldn’t keep letting the curiosity haunt him. 

With a glass of water in hand, Murphy eased open the screen door. 

He’d barely registered that the light was already on before he realized he wasn’t alone. 

“Shit, you scared me,” he exclaimed, just as Kane looked up with an equal amount of surprise. 

He looked rough, with a patchy salt and pepper beard and an old US Army sweatshirt with a hole at the collar. 

The sight of him like this, unkempt and tired, almost made Murphy want to apologize for putting him through the wringer. 

“Look, I don’t want to figh—“ he began, lowering himself into a wicker chair. But before he could get the entire peace offering out, he caught sight of something in the older man’s hand. 

A black velvet box, small enough that it could only hold one thing. 

“What is that?” Murphy asked, completely losing his train of thought as he looked between Marcus and the box. In the years that Marcus had known them, he’d never once brought a woman home. He’d never even gone on a date. 

Silently, Kane flipped open the box to reveal a large solitaire diamond. It was beautiful, and it looked—ridiculously expensive. 

“I’ve been thinking about giving it to Bellamy. For Clarke. She’s a special girl, and he really loves her,” he explained, turning the ring to look at it. 

And something in his expression made Murphy’s heart hurt. There was pain there. 

“Man...that’s a hell of a wedding present. Did you buy that for him?” Murphy asked, a niggling part of his brain knew that there was more to this than Kane was saying. 

There was a long pause as Marcus seemed to drift off to another place, a place that none of them knew anything about. 

Murphy always wondered about Kane, what compelled him to take in a bunch of juvenile delinquents who were products of terrible parenting or horrible circumstances. He’d never had children of his own or married, just dedicated his entire life to unconventionally building a family. He had been good to them, and if it wasn’t for him, none of them would be as successful as they were. 

They all owed him a lot, and Murphy had kind of lost sight of that lately. 

He’d been so focused on the person that left him that he’d spent the past week making people who loved him miserable. Not just Kane, but Bellamy and Emori too. 

Surprisingly, Clarke’s words echoed in his head. 

“Once you open this box. You can’t close it.” 

And the look on her face when she said it reflected the same one Marcus had now. The face of someone who had suffered profoundly and wanted to save someone else from the same fate. 

Marcus had demons of his own, and he was just trying to protect Murphy. 

“I know that you essentially raised us, but we’re adults now,” he said carefully, moving to sit beside Kane. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.” 

“It’s easy to forget that sometimes. You’re all still my delinquents,” Kane chuckled, shifting to give Murphy a one-sided hug. 

And some of Murphy’s anger ebbed away as he hugged back. 

“So what’s with the ring?” He asked again, turning the box to look at it. 

Oddly, it didn’t seem like the kind of thing Clarke would like. 

It was too—fancy. 

“Maybe it’s time for me to just be honest with you, kid,” Kane sighed, snapping the box closed. 

And it didn’t feel like they were just talking about a ring anymore. 

Murphy was finally getting what he wanted, but he didn’t know if he wanted it anymore. 

“I bought this ring for someone I loved a long time ago. Maybe the only woman I’ve ever really loved,” Kane said, looking back out into the darkness instead of at Murphy. “She was a complicated person, and I don’t think I ever really knew how to help her.” 

There was another pause as Kane seemed to center himself, and then he continued. 

“I lost her. I lost her because I didn’t know how to help her, and that haunted me for a long time,” he explained before finally turning to face him. “And then, right after you all left for Afghanistan, your mom came to find you. Well, more aptly, she came to ask you for money.” 

Murphy’s heart dropped. 

His mom had come to Old House Kane. 

“Did you give it to her?” He asked, voice hoarse, wondering if Kane had given her the money and it led to something terrible.” 

He could picture the scene, and it made his stomach turn, his mom how he last remembered her, standing on the steps of the white, pristine mansion. 

Had Kane been the last person to see her alive? 

“No. But she reminded me of the mistakes I’d made when I was younger, the ones that led to losing the love of my life,” Kane explained, slowing down like he was bracing himself for what came next. “I paid for her to get help. I and Indra both did. We took her to a facility—and she seemed like she actually wanted to make a change.” 

“What?” Murphy said, completely thrown off by the explanation. He’d spent his entire childhood trying to convince his mom to get help, and Kane was the one who managed to do it. 

The anger returned, mixed with confusion over where this story was going. 

Kane took a deep breath and tried to take his hand before he flinched away. 

“If she wanted to get better. What the hell aren’t you telling me?” He snapped, angry and confused and unsure how to handle this information. 

“I’m trying to protect you both—“ 

“Both? She’s been alive this whole time, and you didn’t tell me. You let me pick fights and piss off my girlfriend and yell at my best friend all while knowing she was alive?” 

Tears were stinging in the corners of his eyes, ones that felt misplaced with the anger he was feeling. 

He just didn’t understand. 

The box had been opened, and Clarke was right. He immediately wanted to close it again. It felt like he was in a car and couldn’t find the breaks. 

Kane looked like he’d been punched in the gut, like what he was about to say was actively killing him. 

But Murphy didn’t care. He was tired of beating around the bush, tired of all the secrets. 

“Just tell me the truth.”

“We helped her get clean. But the only way she thought she could stay sober is by leaving her entire life behind. She changed her name, and she moved. I don’t know where, but I don’t think it would be possible to find her. I’m sorry, John, I tried to get her to contact you, but she just thought it would be too hard to face.” 

And Murphy had never felt more betrayed in his entire life. 

All those years of wondering if his mom was dead, not to mention all the times he’d begged her to get help, had stayed up to make sure she was still breathing. 

He’d spent his entire adult life wondering about her and his entire childhood worrying about her, and she’d all but forgotten about him. She’d never bothered to even try when he asked, but all Kane had to do was offer to pay for treatment, and she just went along with it. 

“She never cared. She never cared that I was doing okay. She never cared enough to get sober for me as a kid. She’s sober, and she’s fine now, but she still doesn’t give a fuck.” 

The tears fell now, ones that he’d spent his life holding back. 

He hadn’t just been seeking validation, even if that’s what he kept telling himself. He’d been looking for the love he always wanted from her, to know she was proud of the way he’d grown up, that he’d found a person to spend his life with. He’d thought maybe now if she was alive, she’d want to be better to see his wedding and meet his kids, that she would have a reason to try and be better. 

But apparently, that had always been a pipe dream. 

His mother had cared about him so little, she was actively avoiding him. She’d never cared to know how his life turned out. 

Kane tried to console him, but Murphy couldn’t take anymore. 

“I can’t believe I wanted to help her. I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming,” he snapped, jerking out from under Kane’s arm and storming back into the house. 

_***_

  
_Clarke_

Clarke had spent her morning lying in bed, trying to find flaws in Bellamy as he slept. 

It wasn’t going very well. 

The only thing she could think of that wasn’t an excuse at best, was the time that he’d left her alone in bed without warning. And knowing what she did now about his note leaving tendencies, she wondered what happened to make him go in such a hurry. 

Finding flaws in herself, however, was a much easier task. 

The guilt she’d developed from lying to Bellamy’s family was becoming overwhelming. It only got worse as Octavia took her to pick out cakes, and they ordered cases of wine or, as Emori talked her into an elaborate flower arrangement. 

They trusted her, and she was nothing like they thought she was. They saw the best in her. 

But really, she was just a liar. 

She was lying to Bellamy about her feelings, letting him believe that they were just friends when she knew that what she felt for him was so much more. 

And she was lying to Emori and Octavia about the nature of this wedding about spending her forever with Bellamy. 

The person she’d been most honest with was Murphy, but she’d been lying to him too. 

Hell, she was even lying to herself, thinking that there was a way for her to find enough flaws to negate her feelings for her fiancé. 

Clarke felt like she barely knew herself anymore. 

Less than two weeks ago, she was steeped in confidence. She knew she was smart, and at the top of her field, she had a ten-year-year plan and knew that the chief of surgery was within reach with enough work. 

But one man and his crazy family were making her doubt everything. 

Did she even want to be chief of surgery anymore? Did she want her entire life to be about work? Had she really ever been happy? 

All of a sudden, living in a beach shack and giving sports physicals didn’t seem like such a bad life, not when she could spend her evenings reading books with Bellamy and swimming in the ocean. 

Clarke knew she could never entirely leave her career behind, but she didn’t know if her goals were the same as they had been before. 

“Why do you look so stressed? It’s not even noon,” Bellamy chuckled, rolling over and pulling her into a hug. 

She hugged him back, trying to push all the doubts from her head, but she just couldn’t. 

If only Bellamy knew that he was the reason she looked so stressed. 

“Just thinking about everything we have to get done before this Friday,” she said, hoping that her lie sounded convincing. 

“It’ll be fine. Octavia and Harper are pros,” he assured, kissing her with a hand cupping her jaw. 

He deepened the kiss, and Clarke's thoughts blurred as she pulled him closer. 

Worrying could wait. 

***

  
Miss. Caroline’s dress boutique was packed to the brim with fluffy tulle and white ribbon, and delicate pink roses. They served bubbly glasses of champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries, and they gave each bridesmaid a little whiteboard so they could rate the wedding dresses. 

The whole exercise made Clarke feel a little sick. 

She wanted to be happy, wished she could giggle with Emori and twirl in the dresses and share in the excitement over the happiest day of her life. But instead, wearing this dress just further emphasized how pathetic this all was. 

Clarke was marrying the love of her life—for a green card. 

And he didn’t love her back. 

To say it sucked would be an understatement. 

As she paraded out in a sweetheart neckline, princess dress that made her look like a cupcake, Clarke tried to put on her best front. 

Emori, Harper, Indra, and Octavia all gave her various scores between 1-3 and wrinkled their noses in distaste. 

“It’s not you at all,” Octavia said, giving the dress a thumbs down. “Way too much.” 

Clarke agreed, a little surprised how well Bellamy’s family had come to know her in a matter of days. 

“I don’t like it either,” she said, spinning in the mirror and smoothing the skirt down. 

On her second turn, she caught sight of something over the rows of shelves, just barely able to see from her elevated platform. 

A woman staring through the shop window. Innocent enough at first, but Clarke quickly realized that the woman in question was Ontari. 

She almost toppled over in surprise, catching herself just before she fell off the platform and into Harper’s lap. 

And that was an ice bucket of water on an already awkward day. 

In between A-line dresses and mermaid cuts, Clarke tried to figure out a way to get to Ontari before she got confronted in front of the entire group. 

So she made a plan and set an alarm just as she walked out in a ridiculously short, white cupcake dress. 

The perfect excuse.

When her phone rang, she pretended to have a call from work and excused herself outside. But what she didn’t plan for was how short the dress actually turned out to be. 

Clarke pushed her way out of the store with one hand holding her skirt down and shoved her phone back into her bodice. 

Ontari was sitting on a nearby bench, smirking at Clarke as she watched her storm over. 

“What the hell is your problem? Why are you here?” She demanded, hoping an errant breeze wouldn’t completely expose her to a busy street. 

And Ontari just smiled bigger, taking an overly long sip of coffee before she bothered to address Clarke. 

“Because you’re full of shit, and I know it. From the second you walked into my office, it was obvious that you were lying through your teeth. I mean, maybe you and Bellamy had fucked once or twice but secretly dating for two years? I wasn’t born yesterday,” she said snarkily, eyes fixed on Clarke’s inappropriate hemline. 

“Well, we have been dating for two years, and we’re getting married this Friday,” Clarke shrugged, trying to seem unbothered. “We don’t need your approval to get married last time I checked.” 

“Getting married won’t help you. I can still deport you.” 

“You can take that up with my lawyer. I’m not putting up with your shit.” 

“Look, Clarke, I know you’re not stupid. According to your file, you’re a fucking genius. So I know that you know better than this,” Ontari sighed, setting her coffee cup down and gesturing for Clarke to sit beside her. 

Clarke did not oblige, mainly because she didn’t know how she would sit down without her entire skirt folding upwards. 

“I don’t want to send you to jail. But if you go through with this, I won’t have a choice.” 

“My marriage is not a scam!” Clarke exclaimed, surprising herself with the intensity in her voice. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Ontari or her own conscience, but either way, she wasn’t going to back down. “You’re fucking crazy. I hope you know that.” 

“I’m not going to argue with you. But I am going to cut you a deal. Turn yourself in, let immigration do its job, and Bellamy gets let off scot-free, no blemish on his record, nothing,” Ontari said, dropping her aggressive tone just a little. “However, if you go through with this, he goes down with you. I know your marriage is incredibly fake, but I also know you care about him too much to let him go to jail for you.” 

Clarke knew it was a trap, knew that Ontari was trying to bait her. 

But deep down, she knew that she had a point. 

She hated that Ontari had figured her out so quickly, that she knew more about her relationship than everyone in the bridal shop did. 

The offer was tempting, and it wasn’t like Clarke hadn’t thought about it. 

But it was too soon to show her hand, and she needed a little time to think. 

“Fuck off, Ontari,” Clarke said, knowing that antagonizing someone who just handed her a way out wasn’t a smart move. 

Something about that woman just rubbed her the wrong way. 

And then she turned on her heel and marched back into the bridal shop, holding her dress down with her hands as she walked. 

It made her chest hurt to think about it, but the option she never dared to consider was suddenly starting to seem like it was the path of least destruction. 

***

  
Clarke sat at the end of the dock with a sketchbook propped in her lap. She’d picked it up when she’d gone to town, along with a packet of charcoals and a drawing pencil. They’d called to her from across a weird hobby shop, and for the first time in a long time, she let herself indulge in it. 

Art used to be her happy place, an outlet for the constant anxiety itching under her skin, but as the years had gone by, she just didn’t have time. 

Ten years since she’d picked up a piece of charcoal, since she’d found herself light enough to draw again. 

She’d always liked to draw faces, the curves of people’s jawlines, and the sparkle in their eyes. Usually, Clarke drew people that she loved, studied their features and their smiles, the quirks in their features. 

Part of her wanted to draw Bellamy, the sprinkle of his freckles and the sharp jut of his cheekbones, the beautiful sparkle in his eyes when he smiled. But the image just wouldn’t come. 

She knew what she needed to draw, but she had to gather herself before she did. 

With her toes skimming the water, Clarke finally let a tear slide down her cheek, allowing herself to mourn for the childhood she lost, the life she had in front of her, and the life she wanted instead. 

She was so close to being happy. It was practically skimming her fingers. 

But what did happiness really mean? 

It definitely didn’t mean her sterile apartment and a lonely life as the chief of surgery. 

And it wasn’t a fake life as Bellamy’s pretend wife either. 

She wanted love, real love, to maybe have a family and a house and people to bicker with over the dinner table. And deep down, she knew she wanted it with Bellamy. 

A small part of Clarke wondered whether he was her once in a lifetime love, the love she’d listened to her mom ramble about on her deathbed, the kind of love that lingers even when everything else is gone. 

It sure felt like he was. 

Slowly, the strokes came, charcoal smudges marking her page. 

The movement was cathartic. Her hopes and her fears and her hurt feelings all poured into the page. 

As the afternoon sun beat down on her shoulders, Clarke let herself turn her brain off and focus on the drawing in front of her. 

A face started to take shape, and as it did, Clarke cried real tears, the first she had shed in years. 

There were so many things she regretted, so many things she wished she could do-over.

But as she looked down at the drawing of her own face, younger and rounder and more innocent, all Clarke wanted to do was apologize. 

She’d been so hard on her younger self, so unforgiving of all the things she’d done to survive, to keep herself from falling apart. 

In the process, she’d robbed her younger self of hope, had grown more and more jaded with time.

Being able to experience all the things she’d never let herself have made her regret all the self-inflicted torture. 

All this time, Clarke could have been happy, and instead, she chose to make herself miserable. 

And now, she had happiness at her feet, all the things she’d always longed for but never let herself have, and she’d still managed to ruin everything. She could have allowed a cute boy to take her coffee order and been able to fall in love with Bellamy the right way. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, letting her thumb run across the edge of her own cheek, memorialized on rough paper. “I wish I knew what we were doing and that I could tell you everything is going to be okay. But I have no idea what’s going on.” 

It hurt to admit that, after being sure of every single thing in her life from the moment she turned 18. But when it came to Bellamy, it seemed that logic didn’t really apply. 

Ontari’s words echoed in her head. 

There was still a way out, to keep Bellamy out of the line of fire. 

It would hurt. It would potentially rip Clarke’s heart to shreds. She might never find someone like Bellamy again, but being so close while remaining so far away hurt worse than losing him ever could. 

***

  
“Are you okay? You seem a little off,” Bellamy asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

His thumb traced the arch of Clarke’s foot, and her eyes fluttered shut at the gesture, her feet aching after hours of trying on dresses in heels and sitting cross-legged on the dock. 

“Just a long day,” she shrugged, scooting over so he could lie beside her. But he stayed at the end of the bed, kneading at her feet as he leaned back against the footboard. 

“The wedding planning is a lot more work than I thought,” Bellamy agreed, also seeming more than a little off. 

“How was your tuxedo fitting?” 

“It made me feel like I was going to prom again,” he chuckled, telling her about the eccentric tailor who he’d known since he was in high school. 

Clarke leaned into the moment, edging her feet into his lap. She still hadn’t decided what to do, but she wanted to linger at this moment for as long as possible—it may be one of their last. 

More than the company or the sex or the excitement, she would miss their conversations, the way she could be herself, share her thoughts about things, and know someone cared enough to listen. 

She loved listening to Bellamy talk, the way he shoehorned overly specific details into his recollections. It would be one of the things she would miss the most about him. 

“I think Kane is more excited about all this than I am. He’s never been married as far as I know, so I think this means a lot to him,” Bellamy continued, seemingly lost in thought. 

Clarke didn’t really know what to make of Kane. All of their interactions had been strange, and she still couldn’t get over the idea that he knew something she didn’t. But he was an intriguing person. 

“Does he ever talk about that with you? His past?” Clarke asked, not wanting to pry but curious all the same. She did want to know what exactly led someone to build a ragtag team of abandoned children. 

“Not really, he’s alluded to it a few times. He had a long lost love at some point. I don’t know what happened to her.” 

“Doesn’t it weird you out how common long lost loves seem to be? It’s kind of sad and a little terrifying,” Clarke said, knowing that she was treading into dangerous water. Bellamy very well could be her long lost love, the perfect man she’d met at the wrong time. But she did wonder whether other people worried about this as much as she did. 

“It all feels so random, doesn’t it? Soulmates and long lost loves and everything else,” he agreed, pulling Clarke in by her feet until her legs were draped over his folded knees. “Like everything is just decided for us, and we’re all along for the ride.” 

Clarke sighed deeply, wondering if he was right, wondering if there was already a plan for them out there, a predetermination over whether they were meant to be. 

And the more she thought about it, the more she suspected that the odds weren’t in their favor. 

“I feel like we cheated a little by getting fake married,” Clarke chuckled, reaching out to stroke Bellamy’s jaw. 

“Maybe that’s part of the plan too?” He shrugged, placing his hand over hers.

The look he gave her was unreadable, but it was tinged with something sad, something that made Clarke want to throw it all away and tell him the truth. 

But she couldn’t. 

Because in the likely event that he didn’t return her feelings, he would never let her sacrifice herself to spare him. 

She either had to live with the unknown, or she would ruin both of their lives. 

Despite her prior tendency toward being selfish, she knew that the only choice she had was to disappear. 

So Clarke said it quietly, to herself, in her head. 

_“I love you, Bellamy Blake, and I’ll miss you every day for the rest of my life.”_

And then, she kissed him. 

A real kiss, a kiss that conveyed every word she would never be able to say. 

***

  
Bellamy’s face was barely discernible in the dark. Clarke longed to kiss him, to say goodbye for real, but she’d already done that, and she knew that doing it again would just make everything harder. 

So Clarke settled for a soft peck at the beginning of his hairline, so light that she was sure he couldn’t feel it. And with tears in her eyes, she crawled out of bed, careful not to shift the mattress too much. 

She placed the letter she’d written for him on the bedside table, weighed down by a book so she could be sure it wouldn’t drift away. 

And then, with one last glance, she slipped into the bathroom to collect the bags she’d carefully packed when she got home earlier. 

She’d almost finished collecting her toiletries when she spotted something out of place on Bellamy’s side of the sink. 

On the counter, beside his toothbrush, just behind his shaving kit, sat a velvet box, one that hadn’t been there when she’d arranged her things earlier. 

Perfectly square, with a nondescript logo printed into the top. 

Clarke knew that nothing good could possibly come from opening it, but she did anyway. She’d spend her entire life wondering if it was just a pair of earrings if she didn’t. 

But it wasn’t a pair of earrings. 

It was an engagement ring. 

A real engagement ring. One of the most beautiful she’d ever seen. 

Staring down at it, knowing that Bellamy bought it for their fake wedding, that he’d cared enough to get a real ring despite everything. 

Clarke couldn’t handle it. 

The tears she’d been holding back started to fall, and they wouldn’t stop. 

As she collected her bags, she mourned the life she’d never get to have, a life that was never meant to be hers. 

It was ironic, really, that she finally understood the tragedy of being alone, just in time to make herself the loneliest she’d ever been. 

Clarke couldn’t look at Bellamy when she tiptoed from the bathroom and down the hallway, praying that nobody was awake to see her like this. 

And she made it through the entire house without seeing another soul. 

She reached the swinging screen door before her luck ran out. 

Sitting on the front steps, smoking a cigarette, was Murphy. 

“Dammit, Kane, I told you I need space—“ he snapped, rearing around and freezing in place when he realized who was actually standing behind him. 

Clarke didn’t know what to say or do, she hadn’t planned for this, and she especially hadn’t prepared for Murphy. 

So she just stood there, eyes red, cheeks tear-stained, trying not to shiver in the evening chill. 

“What happened?” He asked, crushing the cigarette under his sandal before standing to face her. “What’s wrong?” 

Murphy spoke slowly, softly, like he was trying to make sense of the scene in front of him. 

Out of everyone, even more than Emori, Clarke felt the closest to him, and she didn’t know how to tell him that she’d been lying since the moment they first spoke. 

“I don’t want to talk about it. I just need to go,” she said, not wanting to get into it, not knowing it she could emotionally handle anymore. 

“Right now? In the middle of the night?” He balked, eyes finally flicking down to her packed bag and rolling suitcase. 

“Yes. I’m calling a cab.” 

“There are no cabs. This is private land. They need preclearance with the gatekeeper,” Murphy explained, reaching to pry her suitcase from her hand. “And the only way back to Hilton Head is via boat or with a very, very sturdy truck. A cab would just take you to the nearest public dock.” 

Clarke didn’t know what to do, her plan was slowly unraveling, and she felt like she might lose her mind if she stayed here any longer. She’d already mentally prepared herself for this, and it had been so hard that if she had to do it again, she wouldn’t be able to. 

“I’ll walk then. I can’t stay here,” she said stubbornly, eyes burning as tears threatened to spill. 

She reached to grab the suitcase back, but Murphy pulled it just far enough away that she caught air instead. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I don’t have any other choice,” Clarke huffed, trying to hold back her tears as she reached for her bag again. 

Murphy fixed her with a long hard look, not quite pity but something pretty close to it. 

“You do. I’ll take you wherever you need to go. It definitely makes me a shitty friend to Bellamy, but you need a good friend right now more than he does,” he sighed, taking her bag and carrying it down the steps, gesturing for her to follow. “Plus, I need to get out of this godforsaken house, at least for a little while.” 

Clarke couldn’t help the surge of emotion that came with Murphy calling her a friend, and she was relieved that he was willing to help her. 

“Fine. But tell Emori that you’re going. I don’t want people thinking we ran away together,” she said, hoping it would lighten some of the awkwardness between them. 

“In your dreams. Nobody would ever believe that,” Murphy fired back, seeming similarly relieved that she was okay enough to make jokes. 

And even though it was a nice moment, Clarke’s heart broke a little more. She wasn’t just losing Bellamy. She was losing all these people too—people who, in another life, could have been her family. 

***

  
There was nobody else out on the water, and the silence of it all left a creepy tinge to the clear night. The quiet hum of the motor whirred, and the boat misted water onto Clarke’s hair and cheeks. 

She’d calmed down a little since they left the porch, been able to steady herself with the rhythmic hum of the cicadas and the splash of the water. 

Her heart still ached, but it wasn’t as overwhelming anymore, more like background noise than outright despair. 

Murphy stood silently at the helm. He hadn’t asked any real questions, hadn’t probed even though it was clear he was curious. 

But there was something off about him too, not an unsteadiness, but rather, simmering anger. 

“I’m obviously a wreck,” Clarke said, breaking the silence between them. “But you don’t seem to be doing great either.” 

And Murphy stared at her, swallowing heavily before he turned his gaze back onto the water. 

“My mom’s alive,” he said, voice cracking just slightly at the admission. “I opened the box...and I kind of wish I hadn’t.” 

Suddenly, everything about the way Murphy had been acting, the way he’d been lingering outside in the middle of the night, made sense. 

Clarke knew from the start that he would never find real closure and her heart broke for him a bit, even if she didn’t understand why someone with so much love in their life would need validation from someone who left them behind. 

“Not what you thought it would be?” She asked carefully, edging close enough that she could see the slight shake in his jaw. 

“It all feels so stupid now…” 

“It isn’t stupid that you wanted to show your mom how far you’ve come. You’ve built an amazing life Murphy, it’s something to be proud of,” Clarke soothed, knowing that her words wouldn’t be enough. 

As someone who was currently in the middle of doing something crazy and irrational, she knew that logic wasn’t usually a solution in moments like this. 

“The thing is...when Kane told me she was alive and that she changed her name and never bothered to try and find me, I realized I never wanted to find her to prove anything. I wanted to find her so I could get my childhood back,” he gritted out, hands tensing on the boat steering wheel. “So that she would finally love me the way a mom is supposed to.” 

Silent tears were running down his cheeks now, a kind of pain that Clarke couldn’t fathom. For the first time, she felt a bit lucky, that even though her parents had put her through hell—they’d always loved her. The loss that Murphy felt was something so deep and painful. It kind of made Clarke want to cry too. 

But she couldn’t, because this conversation wasn’t about her. And even though her relationship with Bellamy had been fake, her friendship with everyone else had been real. The fact that Murphy was helping her flee the island in the dead of night proved that. 

These people, Murphy included, had shown her that love could be found everywhere and that life was more manageable when you’re not alone. 

And she hadn’t said goodbye to anyone. 

This would be her parting gift—and hopefully, it would be enough. 

“Hey, stop the boat for a second,” Clarke said gently, placing a hand on Murphy’s shoulder. 

The engine clicked off, and she led him to the bench, the dull glow of the moonlight leaving them both coated in a waxy yellow. 

“It’s been years. I should be over this by now—“ he said, trying to recover from his moment before. 

“Someone you loved left you. You’re allowed to be as upset and angry about that as you want to be. But despite your mom, you went out, and you built a family for yourself. You found people who love you, who chose to love you,” she assured, hoping that it wouldn’t sound like a useless platitude. “Don’t burn it all to the ground because of someone who you haven’t seen in ten years. Being alone is...horrible and painful. Let the people who love you be there for you.” 

The last part hurt to say out loud, but it was what Murphy needed to hear. 

“Logically, I understand that, but I don’t know how to get over it,” he explained, wiping the last of his tears away. “I just feel stupid and naive and embarrassed. How am I supposed to explain this to Emori? Why would she want to have kids with someone like this? Someone whose own mother doesn’t love them. She deserves better.” 

“She loves you so much. Maybe you should give her a chance to react, let her make that choice instead of making it for her. Talk to her, tell her what you just told me.” 

Murphy snorted softly, relaxing marginally as he leaned back against the railing, wiping at his eyes again. He didn’t seem very convinced, but he also didn’t seem like he could take rehashing this situation anymore. 

“Shouldn’t you let Bellamy have a say in whatever is going on here? Instead of just running away in the middle of the night,” he asked, a single raised eyebrow visible even in the dark. “You’re ending your engagement without letting him have a say.” 

“It’s different.” 

“It sounds pretty similar to me.” 

Clarke mulled over what to say next because, unfortunately, Murphy had a point. They were similar in a lot of ways, including how they dealt with conflict. 

Maybe he would understand. Perhaps she should just tell him the truth. 

It didn’t really matter anymore. Not when she was getting deported in a matter of days. 

“If I tell you this, you have to promise me that I can trust you with it,” she sighed, almost relieved that she wouldn’t have to hold this secret to herself forever. 

“You know shit about me that I've never told anyone else...I never really expected this, but that makes us friends. Very close friends. Which means you can trust me.” 

And she did. 

So she started from the beginning and unfolded the entire plan. Saying it out sounded insane, and it really was a marvel that things lasted for as long as they did. 

Clarke hesitated when she reached the part about her feelings, but she had nothing to lose at this point. 

“Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with Bellamy, or maybe I always loved him, I don’t really know. But either way, that was never part of the agreement. It wouldn’t be fair for me to marry him knowing that I would never be happy with a fake relationship,” she said, trying desperately to keep her voice from shaking. “To him or to myself.” 

“I’m confused about what part of this relationship is fake,” Murphy asked, seeming genuinely confused as he mulled over her story.

“I told you, we plotted—“ 

“No, I understand that part. But like, the hugging and kissing and giggling and whispering, all of the coupley shit. Are you seriously trying to tell me that you guys choreographed all of that? And that you just snapped back to being normal with each other when you were alone?” He interrupted before Clarke could reiterate her entire story. 

  
“Well, at first, yeah. But after a while, we just kept the act up all the time, even when we were alone, and that’s when it got complicated…” 

“If you’re acting like that all the time, it’s not acting anymore. It’s just living your life. Did you ever stop to consider that he might love you back? Bellamy isn’t usually a terrific liar. To be honest with you, I kind of had a feeling something weird was going on with you two at first because he gets all squirmy and loud when he lies. But he's been acting pretty normal lately. He's just being himself.” 

“That’s not possible, okay? It’s just not. And I know that if I stay, Bellamy will marry me because he would never let me destroy my career or get deported. He’s just too good of a person for that,” Clarke explained, already on the verge of tears. She knew deep down that if Murphy tried hard enough to convince her, she would stay. “I love him, and I love all of you, and I can’t keep lying to everyone. I need to be honest, and I need to face the consequences of my situation. If I do this, if I turn myself in, Bellamy gets off without any charges. He would be free to have a normal life, and that’s what he deserves. I’m going home to Australia. It’s the only solution.” 

The words felt wrong coming out of her mouth. Australia wasn’t home, and it never would be, but she didn’t have much choice at this point. 

“I’m not going to fight with you, but I want you to know that I think you’re acting stupid,” Murphy sighed, slinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in for a side hug. “And I’m kind of going to miss you.” 

“I’m trying to do the right thing…” Clarke said, not quite sure if she was talking to Murphy or to herself. "But I'll miss you too. All of you. You're the closest thing I've had to a family in a long time." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I PROMISE THIS WILL NOT LAST FOREVER. But the next chapter is the same sequence of events from Bellamy's POV so it's not exactly going to end anytime soon either... 
> 
> I'm really excited for you guys to see the end of this fic!! It's probably one of my favorites I've written. 
> 
> Also, the response to this little guy continues to blow me away. You all are so amazing and kind and wonderful and I appreciate each and every single one of you so much. Thank you for your kindness, it means the world to me, and hearing what you think always makes me smile from ear to ear. This chapter is a little out of my comfort zone with the angst so I would love to hear what you guys think :) 
> 
> I hope you all are lovely and well, stay healthy and kind. Your place in the world is important and you are loved by me and by a lot of others! 
> 
> Till next time my dears <3

**Author's Note:**

> If you like moodboards, playlists or just want to be pals! You can find me on Tumblr @Nakey-cats-take-bathsss 
> 
> Also, this work is part 4 in my romantic comedy AU series.


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